


Soccer is a Contact Sport

by mumbles_monaghan



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Futbol AU, Gallavich, M/M, Professional Soccer Players AU, Soccer AU, Warning for fluff, warning for a great use of adult language, warning for homophobic slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:25:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2550854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumbles_monaghan/pseuds/mumbles_monaghan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian Gallagher has played for the Los Angeles Stars since the beginning of his professional soccer career. He publicly came out of the closet during his second season and worked his freckled-ass off in order to wear his prestigious title. He'd sooner light himself on fire before losing his spot on the team to Mickey fucking Milkovich. The bastard thinks he can just saunter onto the field and take whats rightfully Ian's? Hell no, fuck him, but unfortunately for Ian, Mickey didn't become a legend in the making by asking politely. After all, Mickey Milkovich was not a pussy. He wasn't...he just wasn't...right?....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. About the black-haired beauty?

Ch.1: About the black-haired beauty?

“Dude,” Ian’s teammate, Hector, said and tossed him a clean t-shirt, “Did you hear about the new player our team’s owner bought?”

     They were sitting in their changing room after their usual Wednesday night speed training. Ian, Hector, and a number of other players had it the hardest on speed training sessions because they were mid-fielders and when it came to soccer, mid-fielders were the runners of the team. And when it came to the Los Angeles Stars, their runners had to be the fastest and strongest of them all.

“I don’t think I wanna know,” Ian replied and slipped on the sponsor t-shirt.

     Los Angeles was hot all year long so never mind that it was March, ‘cause it was as sunny as ever. Ian’s skin was spattered with freckles and tan-lines. He would give anything for a transfer to a Minnesota team for once. He’d even go back to his roots in Chicago if that meant colder weather. Of course Fiona would never move back but it was just a thought. Carl and Debbie would skin him alive before even suggesting they return to Chicago. It’s not like they would go back to South Side!  
Ian could more than afford his siblings’ house in the LA suburbs and his own little condo in the hills (his salary and endorsement deals had sky rocketed since last season). So if they ever did move back, it would be North Side but still, the Chicago air itself would bring back memories that none of them would ever want to relive.

“Trust me…” Hector paused for anticipation, “You want to hear this.”

     So, Ian rolled his eyes, swung his gym bag across his body, sat down on the wooden bench and sighed. “Okay, fine, who?”

“Mickey fucking Milkovich,” he said slowly with arched eyebrows for emphasis.

Ian carefully got to his feet, “Are you serious right now?”

     Mickey Milkovich was the dirtiest, most violent athlete in professional soccer that was actively playing. He was guaranteed a yellow card every single game (if not a red card) and had more fouls called against him than his whole team combined. But, holy shit, was he excellent at what he dedicated his life to. Mickey had the best footwork and body placement Ian had ever seen. Watching Mickey Milkovich play meant watching history in the making.

“Cross my heart, man. Amanda told me last night. My guess is they didn’t tell us during practice because they didn’t want us starting a riot or something.”

“You son of a bitch,” Ian said jokingly, “I guess dating the owner’s kid does have its perks, huh?”

“Yeah, you should try it,” he teased and punched Ian’s shoulder.

“I don’t think his preppy ass, private-school son would much enjoy a dick in his mouth.”

Hector pointed at him and said, “I bet more butt-fucking goes on there than in your bedroom.”

Ian playfully rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. I thought he was playing in Europe, anyways. Why the hell would he want to come back to the MLS?”

     It was true though! Major League Soccer was pretty cool but it definitely was not European soccer. European ball was _futból_ for Pete’s sake! Who in their right mind would pass that up?

“Why does anyone do anything now a days, Ian? Money.”

“Still,” Ian said, shaking his head, “If they gave me an offer in Europe, I would never pass that up. With that type of salary I could pay for Carl, Debbie and Liam’s college twice over! Besides the money though, it’s bragging rights, you know? I mean, IT’S EUROPE GOD DAMNIT.”

“Alright, alright, calm down, Howdy Doody,” Hector laughed as Ian flailed his arms in the air dramatically.

     Ian laughed and said he’d catch Hector later. It was six o’clock in the afternoon and he wanted to get home so he could finish his afternoon routine as soon as possible. He needed food but more importantly sleep! “Sleep is just as important as diet and exercise,” Lip’s voice rang through his head. As a brother, Lip was as great as they got, but as a manager…he was a huge pain in the ass.

     During the short walk to the private parking garage, Ian noted that his legs felt like noodles. Granted, they always felt like that after a tough day on the field and he doubted they would ever stop feeling like that. He also worried that now that Mickey Milkovich would (allegedly) join the team, he’d have to train twice, even three times, as hard as he already was. He liked his spot as center mid-fielder and, frankly, he was the best center mid-fielder in the whole MLS. He’d be damned if Mickey fucking Milkovich dropped in with his tiny self and swooped on his position.

     He took out his phone to call Lip, but as if the bastard had telepathy, Lip was already calling.

“Big news, little brother,” Lip chirped before Ian could mutter a hello.

“I know,” Ian replied instead.

“About the black haired beauty?” Lip asked and Ian rolled his eyes.

“More like black haired, better-stay-in-his-lane, munchkin,” Ian retorted.

Lip laughed at that. “Now that’s what I want to hear. I wouldn’t worry if I were you though,” he said, “Coach Smith wouldn’t risk you for all the players on the west coast. You’re his red knight in shining armor.”

Then it was Ian’s turn to laugh. “You don’t know that.”

“Oh I don’t?” Lip sounded offended, “All I do is look up the stats, sugarbottom. And trust me when I say…your spot is fine. I mean…unless you plan on fucking up big time in the next couple of months?”

“Yeah right,” Ian scoffed as he unlocked the doors to his Charger and threw his gym bag into the back seat.

“Then you’ll be fine, man,” Lip said, “See you for dinner at Fiona’s tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Ian replied with a sigh.

“Fiona will have your balls and you know it,” Lip chuckled.

Ian let out a half-assed attempt at a laugh, “Whatever, I got to go.”

Then the brothers hung up on each other.

     As he slammed his car door a little harder than intended, he groaned. His finger hovered over the “start engine” button for a second too long and his mind wandered to Mickey Milkovich. Ian had assholes on his team, but he never, in his three years as a professional soccer player, encountered aggressive, well-paid, legend in the making, arrogant assholes like the infamous Mickey fucking Milkovich. Ian was not looking forward to it at all.

                                                                                                      2  
     Mickey had a long day in LA and all he wanted to do was grab a cold one and kick back but it seemed as if Mandy wasn’t ready to leave her brother alone. He’d helped move all her stuff from her old apartment and into the pool house behind his new home in the hills, so he was exhausted. It really didn’t help that the heat was beating down on him all day.

“We could have called movers, shithead,” Mandy spat when he complained earlier.

“Bull,” he scoffed, “I can do this shit on my own.”

“Whatever. If Macho Man Mickey Milkovich can move all this shit on his own, then Macho Man Mickey Milkovich can keep his whining to a minimum,” Mandy said and Mickey shot her a death glare.

     But that was earlier in the day and now all Mickey wanted was peace and quiet.

“But I have to show you around!” Mandy cried after Mickey told her it was naptime.

“Come on, Mick! You’re in LA now! This is the City of Angels!” Mandy continued.

“Will you shut the fuck up, Mandy?” Mickey cried, “Jesus Christ…We can go out tomorrow. Do you feel okay? Shouldn’t you be lying down or something because of your condition?”

“Fuck you, asshole. Europe make you some kind of pussy or something? You have a bed time now, Mick?” she kept pick, pick, picking at him and it was driving him up the wall!

“You know what,” he finally broke, slamming his beer can on the coffee table in his living room and jumping to his feet, “Do whatever you want. I saw a mini-market down the hill, I’ma get more beer. You want somethin?”

She stared at him for a second then scowled, “No. I’ll be in my new room if you need anything. Goodnight, dickhead.”

“Yeah, bye!” he shouted over the rattle of the backdoor slamming shut. Mandy was sure to give him an aneurism.

     A few minutes later, Mickey was driving down the winding hill on his quest for more beer. He was stressing over the new season almost as much as he was stressing over Mandy’s sickness. He was worried that the sudden change to the MLS might put a damper on his career but his manager, Kev, assured him that as long as his game didn’t falter, he could still transfer back with ease. Mickey was skeptical but Kev was an old friend and Mickey trusted his judgment.

     Mickey had heard many great things about the Los Angeles Stars. For one, he knew that their mid-field was the sturdiest in the whole MLS. That was thanks to Ian Gallagher though, ‘cause Gallagher had one of the best consistency rates Mickey had ever heard of. Mickey had managed to catch an LA Stars’ game from last season a few days ago and Ian had scored one out of the three goals. Gallagher’s ball placement and speed was downright admirable.

     Mickey also heard that the players weren’t keen on welcoming new teammates, especially the ones that were as well known as he was. Kev told him stories about the petty arguments that always popped up on the news.

“I just want to do what I do best and go from there, man,” Mickey told him over the phone a few days earlier.

“And I want you to do what you do best but you need to know what you’re getting yourself into, Mick. You can’t just walk in there, guns blazing, and expect a warm embrace and maybe a gift basket-“

“You’re exaggerating,” Mickey interrupted.

“No, I’m being serious, dude. It’s only a few seasons. Get through them in one piece and then we can go from there. Or else V and my girls will go hungry and then we’ll have to move in with you-”

“Alright, alright,” Mickey interrupted yet again, “I’ll call you when we’re settled in.”

     But as he pulled into the mini-market’s parking lot, Mickey was beginning to think he would never feel settled in. Los Angeles was much, much, different than Manchester and he didn’t have enough “exploring” time because he had an early morning press signing the next day. On top of that, his first official team practice was in two days.

Just then his phone started buzzing and when he fished it out of his pocket he grunted. “What?”

“I just remembered one thing, shit head,” Mandy said on the other end of the line.

“What do you want?” he replied.

“Can you pick up…oh, wait…” she trailed on, “Nevermind. I have some.”

     Mickey rolled his eyes and hung up the phone without saying another word. Instead, he shoved the phone back into his pocket as he entered the store. The woman behind the counter didn’t even give him a second look and he decided he liked her. Too many people’s jaws hit the floor when he walked through the door and he could do without it. Professional athlete or not, he was still a human being.

After picking his six-pack of choice, he made his way to the front to pay.

“What’s the grand Mickey Milkovich doing in Los Angeles?” she asked in monotone. She seemed like a class A bitch. Mickey definitely liked her and he’d definitely shop there more often.

“What’s it to you?” he spat back and she looked up from the cash register with what seemed like a faint grin on her lips, but Mickey couldn’t be too sure.

“I’m Linda,” she said, ripped the receipt off the machine and, then handed it to him.

Mickey snatched it from her hand and she said, “My kids are big fans.”

“You’re not?” he asked.

“I don’t care much for sports.”

Mickey nodded his head and smiled before turning to walk out of the door.

                                                                                                3  
     As Ian turned into the Kash n Grab’s parking lot, he managed to swerve out of a 1965 Ford Mustang’s way before crashing head on with it. The reckless driver was speeding out of the parking lot like his or her house was on fire and Ian hated people that thought their life was more important than everyone else’s.

     He quickly parked and then made his way inside. Linda was a good friend of his so he sometimes liked to stop by after practices to chat with her.

“Damn,” she called out once he stepped into her view, “You look like shit, kid.”

“Oh good. My insides finally show on my outsides,” he replied and sank into the chair next to her behind the counter.

“You’ll never guess who you just missed,” she said.

“An asshole probably. They almost just hit me with their car,” he replied.

Linda’s head flung backwards as she laughed so hard that the windows shook, “Dead on actually.”

“Well, who then?” Ian cried. First her, then Hector…he was sick of guessing games.

“Mickey fucking Milkovich,” she chuckled. Ian’s face paled.

“He was here?”

“Yeah. Why, you a fan too?” she teased.

“No way. One of my teammates told me he got signed onto our team,” Ian sighed. Linda gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

“He might be Mickey fucking Milkovich but he is not Ian fucking Gallagher.”

Ian’s face broke into an ear-to-ear grin. “Everything is gonna be so different with him around. The team is gonna to be on their toes.”

“I’m sure they already are with you around,” she replied and he rolled his eyes.

“Where are the kids?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Getting ready for bed.”

Ian wrinkled his eyebrows. “The sun hasn’t even gone down yet.”

“Yeah,” she shrugged her shoulders and smiled devilishly, “But I told them that you like to sleep early cause it improves your game performance and they happily agreed to sleep earlier too. They wanna follow in your footsteps, you know.”

     He smiled at that. Linda’s kids were adorable and with the mother that they had, they were well behaved too.

“Anyways,” she said and handed him a tupperware container, “Here. It’s left over pasta. I don’t know what kind of diet you’re on or whatever but the boys insisted I pack you some.”

“Thanks,” he smiled and stood up to go, “I’ll let you know how it goes with short-stack.”

     She smiled, nodded, and flickered her wrist to shoo him out of the mini-market. Ian’s nerves were getting the best of him as he made his way out of the store and into his car. As he drove up the hill, his pulse was racing and his heart felt like it would fall out of his chest.

“Mickey fucking Milkovich,” Ian whispered as the security guard at the front gate of his condominium complex waved him in. Milkovich had another thing coming if he thought he would show up out of the blue and suddenly start running things. Ian worked hard for his title and he wasn’t gonna lose it to some narcissistic hot head straight out of Manchester.


	2. It's really, really, nice to meet you

Ch.2: It’s really, really, nice to meet you

     Mickey woke up at the crack of dawn on Thursday morning. He flipped over with a groan. It could have easily been the time difference that threw him out of wack, it could have been the new mattress that he wasn’t used to or it could have been the nightmares he had of his dead dad. Despite it all, Mickey knew… _he just knew_ , that his lack of slumber was because he was nervous about the press signing that morning. There was something about having the cameras in your face that made everything seem so much more… _real_.

When he picked up his phone there was a text message from Kev on his screen.

-Slap on that winning smile, yeah?

- **Fuck off** , he texted back. To his surprise, Kev texted back right away.

-Don’t forget that I’m picking you up at 10 and we won’t be back ‘til 8 or 9 at night

- **No I have shit to do** , Mickey replied

-Come on, no! What about the parties?!

- **Fuck em. u go if u want**

-Whatever I’ll be at your house in a few hours

     Then Mickey locked his screen and threw his phone across the bed. It was almost seven in the morning and he had nothing to do. He was about to get up and shower when he heard what sounded like pots banging in the kitchen. He rolled onto his feet and nonchalantly grabbed the bat that laid on the side of his bed. No one in his or her right mind would be so stupid as to break into his house.

“Yo!” he called out and casually stepped into the hallway. No one answered.

“You came to the wrong place, buddy,” he called out and stepped into the cold living room. Again, no sounds were heard besides the banging in the kitchen.

     As he stepped into the kitchen with his arm extended and bat raised to shoulder height, he said, “Yo, stupid ass, you really picked the wrong day to fuck with me.”

“Whoa!” a young woman screamed with her palms up. She had long, jet-black hair, hazel eyes and pale skin. She actually could have passed as a Milkovich if she wanted to, but instead she said, “Mr. Ball told me to let myself in. I’m just trying to make you pancakes, Mr. Milkovich.”

“Who the fuck are you?” he spat.

“My name is Esarosa Wolfe, I’m your new personal assistant,” she replied quickly. She seemed wary of getting smashed in the head so early in the morning.

Mickey sighed and lowered the bat, “How the fuck did you get in?”

“Mr. Ball gave me a key,” she said.

“Fucking, Kevin,” he rubbed his eyes and took a seat behind the granite island, “Make ‘em banana.”

She slowly put her hands down, “Please?”

“The fuck, am I paying you to correct my manners or what?” he replied with a sour look on his face. Then she turned around, unfazed by his rude reply and continued mixing the pancake ingredients.

     The silence that grew over them was slightly uneasy. Mickey wasn’t sure if he even wanted a personal assistant after the nightmare his last one was. He practically grew up on his own, anyways, so he was more than capable of taking care of his own shit. But on top of everything, she looked so young, and not “I’m just trying to pay for college” type of young; Mickey thought she could have easily passed for being fifteen years old. Her skin was smooth, and free of blemishes. Her clothes were black and ironed perfectly; they looked expensive.

“Shouldn’t you be in school or somethin’?” he grunted, “How fucking old are you?”

“Seventeen, Mr. Milkovich, and my education is none of your concern, but if you must know, I am on spring break at the moment.”

He snorted, “Yeah? Kev fucking promoted you from babysitting his kids or something?”

“Yes, now I’m in charge of babysitting you,” she said, turning around so they locked gaze. Mickey’s eyebrows shot upwards. She crossed her arms across her chest, “And I’m Esarosa Wolfe…as in, my father is Mr. Enrique Wolfe from Wolfe & Associates. I’m not just some common little girl off of a Craigslist ad, so don’t treat me as such. Plus…this is only a seasonal thing. I’ll be out of your hair before you know it, Mr. Milkovich.”

     Mickey stared at her for a while. He wondered if she was trying to patronize him or if she was seriously just standing her ground. Either way, he liked the fire coming from such a young girl, so he said, “My name is Mickey. Don’t ever fucking call me Mr. Milkovich again.”

     As she turned around to continue on her pancake quest the back door suddenly burst open. Mandy stepped in with a green look on her face.

“Hey, shithead,” she mumbled, went straight to the fridge and took out a sparkling water. When she opened it up, Mickey saw that there was already a full assortment of food and drinks (beer included).

“Did you buy all that shit?” Mickey asked his sister.

     But before Mandy could say anything, Esarosa raised her hand without turning away from the stove and said that she did. Mandy pursed her lips and nodded her head in obvious approval. “Looks like she’s already better than the last one.”

     Mickey shuttered at the memory of his former personal assistant. She was the definition of an idiot, pathetic in every sense of the word and then some.

“How the hell did you buy beer, Esarosa?” he was impressed.

She shrugged without saying another word so he dropped the subject and averted his attention back to his sister. “Whatever, how are you feeling?”

“Like someone spun me around a hundred times and then dropped me on solid ground,” she said.

Mickey flinched. “That sucks.”

Mandy laughed. “Yeah, it does…you nervous for the press signing today?”

Mickey didn’t say anything, but shook his head ‘no.’

Mandy stared at him, “Yeah, whatever you say, dickhead.”

“I forgot to fucking take the suit to the dry-“

“I already took it to the dry-cleaners. It was a fancy place that the owner of the quaint little market down the hill suggested, “Esarosa spoke up, again, and gently set a glass of orange juice down on the granite counter-top in front of Mickey, “I’ll pick it up as soon as I’m through with your breakfast.”

“Didn’t you learn that fucking interrupting people is rude?” Mickey stated more than asked.

Esarosa smiled, actually smiled. Her gleaming white teeth were the true sign of her wealth. Never in his life had Mickey ever seen a smile so perfect. “So is cursing at a person you barely met, but here we are,” Esarosa replied charmingly.

Mandy laughed so hard that her face turned bright red. “Way better than the last one!” she turned to Esarosa, “Kev wasn’t fucking around when he said she was a Wolfe.”

“You knew about this shit?” Mickey cried with wrinkled eyebrows.

Mandy took a while to get her uncontrollable laughter at bay but eventually responded with, “Who do you think gave him the spare key?”

Mickey threw up two middle fingers, one for each girl. “Hurry up with those fucking pancakes,” he stood up and left the room, “I’m starving!”

                                                                                         2  
     It was nine-thirty in the morning when Ian’s eyes fluttered open. His body felt so rested and relaxed. He never wanted to get up and instead, stay in bed for the remainder of his life; just live in the middle of his sheets and never have to worry about soccer or stupid Mickey Milkovich ever again. Just as he was about to bury his face into his pillow, his phone started buzzing on the nightstand next to his bed.

“What do you want?” he spat into the receiver with his eyes closed. The only person who would be calling at that time of the morning was Lip.

“Damn. Good-morning, sunshine,” another voice replied instead.

“Carl?” Ian asked just to be sure. His younger brother had hit many puberty marks in the past few years and his voice was definitely one of them.

“Your favorite one,” he chirped back.

Ian chuckled, “What’s up, bud?”

“Hey, Debbie and I were wondering if you could get us into the Milkovich press signing today!”

“Hi, Ian!” Debbie shouted in the background. Ian put his phone on speaker and set it down on his bare stomach. He stared at the ceiling with both hands laced in his red hair, trying his hardest not to let his anger out on his siblings. It wasn’t their fault they wanted to see the signing, after all. It was Mickey Milkovich.

“You there, man?” Carl asked.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Ian replied quickly.

“Can you get us in?” Debbie asked.

“Aren’t you guys in school or something?” Ian asked as a pathetic way to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“It’s spring break, dude!” Carl cried.

“Oh it is?” Ian said, “Wouldn’t you guys rather go to the beach or something? Disneyland is calling your guys’ names!”

“Nah, we wanna go to the press signing,” Carl stated bluntly.

“Carl,” Debbie quietly chastised.

“You know, cause we won’t really get another chance to see his signings in person and it seems really cool,” Debbie said.

“Yeah, I mean, the guy only plays in Europe so-“

“Carl, shut up!” Debbie interrupted him and she must have hit him because he let out a faint ‘ow.’

Ian sighed, “I’ll have to call Lip.”

“We already did, man,” Carl replied.

“Yeah, he said we had to ask you though,” Debbie added.

“Oh I get it…” Ian said, “You guys want to make me out to be the bad guy…”

“Your words, not ours,” Carl replied and Ian sighed again.

“You wouldn’t even have to stay! You could just get us in and then leave!” Debbie chirped. She was always the optimist.

“Come on, man. Please,” Carl begged.

“Yeah, please, Ian,” Debbie joined in.

Ian rubbed his face with his hands, “Alright fine.”

As his siblings started cheering on the other line, he added, “But I’m not staying!”

     Then they uttered their ‘thank yous’ and hung up on their brother. Ian remained on his back, staring up at his white ceiling. Even his siblings were drooling over Mickey Milkovich.

What the fuck.

                                                                                              3  
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t come,” Mickey spat into the receiver. Mandy stayed home instead of accompanying him to the signing, “You could have met a shit ton of rich old guys.”

“Pass,” she said, “You’ll need someone watching you on TV to tell you if you look fat or not.”

     Mickey laughed. He was walking through the halls of the stadium with Kev and Esarosa by his sides. There were a number of cameras already filming him but he doubted they were already live. Kev’s suit rustled next to him and Mickey shot him a glance.

“Steven Seagal over here is making a shit ton of noise with that suit,” Mickey told Mandy just loud enough so Kev could hear. Esarosa was too busy typing something into her Blackberry to care.

“Hey, man! It’s the only clean one I could find!”

“Yeah, well, why didn’t you take something else to the cleaners?”

“Cause unlike you, I don’t have a kid genius to do all my shit,” Kev replied.

     Mickey’s thousand-dollar suit (the one he only wears when he’s doing something fancy and it’s televised) was perfectly clean and creased when his assistant brought it back from the dry-cleaners. Esarosa picked a great place.

“I attend public school, Mr. Ball,” she sighed, lacking amusement in her tone and without looking up from her phone, “That hardly makes me a genius.”

“Yeah whatever, Ms. Valedictorian,” Kev muttered underneath his breath.

“Oh shit, you have a high school valedictorian working for you, Mick?” Mandy asked over the phone and he rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh.

“Hey am I on TV right now?” he asked Mandy.

“Don’t think so,” she said as she flipped through the sport’s news channels.

“Awesome,” Mickey replied in relief.

“Oooo, but you’ll never guess who is!” she cried suddenly.

                                                                                                4  
“Mr. Gallagher!”

“Mr. Gallagher!” the news anchors called his name.

     Ian, Debbie and Carl were making their way through the stadium’s never ending hallways on their quest for the huge pressroom that overlooked the stadium. Debbie was dressed in an adorable, pink spotted sundress and Carl was dressed head to toe in black with a red checkered flannel tied around his waist.

“Hey, guys,” Ian replied so as to not be rude. Truth was, he really didn’t like being the center of attention.

“Mr. Gallagher, how do you feel about Mickey Milkovich joining the Los Angeles Stars?” one of the men asked and turned the microphone so it was in Ian’s face. Ian backed up slightly and chuckled uncomfortably.

“You guys get to the point, huh?” he said, trying his hardest to beat around the bush, but the reporter was having none of it and instead continued to stare at him with expectant eyes.

“Um,” he smiled with fake happiness laced in his voice and stole a glance at Debs and Carl before saying, “I’d be lying if I said the team wouldn’t be changed up a bit with him around.”

“Changed for the better?” the second reporter asked. He was from a different news channel by the looks of the logo on his cameraman’s gear.

“Hopefully,” Ian replied with that same, charming as hell but fake as ever smile of his.

                                                                                                5  
“He fucking said that?” Mickey asked Mandy in disbelief.

“Swear to God, Mick. Holy shit where are you?” she asked hastily.

“We’re walking through the halls, lost as shit, trying to find this fucking press room. Why?” Mickey asked confused.

“Cause from what it looks like, Gallagher and his diaper squad are wandering the halls too.”

“Shit,” Mickey whispered then looked at Kev, trying his hardest not to look too uncomfortable in front of the cameras, “Kev, we gotta hurry up.”

“To where, Mickey? We don’t know where we’re-“

And as soon as they turned the corner to a different hallway, they heard it.

“Are you looking forward to sharing the field with Mickey Milkovich, Mr. Gallagher?” a man’s voice asked.

                                                                                                 6  
“Holy shit,” Ian whispered underneath his breath when his eyes caught sight of none other than Mickey fucking Milkovich. The reporters and their cameramen quickly formed a circle around the Gallagher/Ball/Wolfe/Milkovich clan.

“Fucking hell,” Mickey mumbled to himself. Mickey had never realized how tall Gallagher was. He was practically at Gallagher’s shoulders…his strong, broad, beautiful shoulders that carefully stretched his denim button-up over the length of them. Gallagher was definitely easy on the eyes.

“Play nice,” Mickey heard Kev whisper in his ear quickly.

“Trust me,” Mickey whispered back, “I will…”

     For a few seconds, neither of them said anything; they just stared at each other like they wanted to eat the other up.

“Damn, close your mouth, Mick,” Mandy teased into his ear and that brought him back to reality.

“I gotta go,” he said and locked his phone’s screen before shoving it into his jacket pocket. He extended his hand to Ian and said, “Mickey Milkovich.”

     When their hands met, it felt like every single one of Mickey’s senses were suddenly heightened. “Ian Gallagher,” Ian said and Mickey thought that his voice sounded like velvet.

“It’s really, really, nice to meet you,” Debbie beamed and shook Mickey’s hand fiercely for a tiny bit too long.

“You too,” Mickey said with an arched eyebrow.

“Dude!” Carl called out and shook his hand, “Big fan, man.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey said and shot Ian a glance. He didn’t look amused at all and Mickey realized that Ian did not feel the same way as his siblings did. So Mickey let go of Carl’s hand and took a step back.

“You guys know where the press room is?” Mickey asked no one in particular.

Ian snorted, “Which one out of all of them?”

     Then Kev shot Mickey a hesitant glance but Mickey didn’t look away from Ian. He was somewhat amused by Gallagher’s blatant response and if it showed on his face, Gallagher made no notice of it. Debbie and Carl, on the other hand, stared at Ian with wide eyes that pleaded to be kind to Mickey. Esarosa finally placed her Blackberry into her purse and observed the scene in front of her.

“We’re just new here, is all,” Kev added.

It was finally Debbie that politely replied, “We can take you. We’re on our way there right now!”

“Great. Let’s do that, yeah?” Mickey stated. Just as Ian was about to make another stupid comment, Carl shoved his shoulder in the direction they were heading.

“This way,” Ian managed to mold his face into a grin.

     As they awkwardly walked down the hall, Ian and Mickey were leading the way while the Gallagher siblings, Esarosa, and Kev trailed closely behind. The cameramen practically tripped on their feet in an attempt to keep up with them but they were the last thing on Mickey’s mind.

     Ian Clayton Gallagher was standing right next to him and he smelled like body wash, angel dust and everything else that Mickey was fond of. Ian wasn’t like Mickey at all. Mickey was stocky and he walked like he was always ready for a fight, but Ian…well, he was definitely something else. Gallagher didn’t walk, he glided. He had this swagger about him that translated into pure, god-like, ease. Mickey thought that Gallagher flowed nicely, much like river water did. It took every bit of strength in Mickey not to turn towards Gallagher and visually soak in every inch of him. The cameras were rolling after all.

“Mr. Milkovich, can you give us a quote as to how you’re feeling about the new season?” one of the reporters asked.

“He’ll answer all your questions once we get inside the press room,” Kev answered for Mickey.

“I don’t understand why one of the stadium’s plentiful staff members didn’t escort you to the room,” Ian asked venomously, just loud enough for Mickey to hear but not loud enough for the cameras to pick up. He also made sure to plaster on his Grammy award-winning smile so it seemed like they were having a friendly chat.

     Esarosa eyed Ian from head to toe and then her boss. She wasn’t sizing them up as much as she was sensing the tension in the air. Sexual or otherwise, she couldn’t say, but Kev had been correct when he said she was intelligent and the feeling she was picking up on was most definitely lingering in the air. If anyone else caught wind of it as well, they were experts at covering up their reactions.

Mickey’s eyebrows were almost touching his hairline as he chuckled, “I hope the rest of the team is as welcoming as you are, Gallagher.”

     Ian didn’t say anything but smile at him with anger blazing in his awe-inspiring, bluish-green eyes. Mickey was already excited for the start of the season.

                                                                                            7  
     Of course Mickey Milkovich would be a smartass, Ian expected someone like him to be nothing other than that. What he didn’t expect was his immature, blunt attempts to piss him off.

“Oh you guys can sit in the first few rows with Esarosa, if you want,” Mickey had told Debbie and Carl once they reached the double doors of the press signing room. Ian held back the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes but Debbie and Carl looked like Jesus, himself, asked them to the prom. They were so star-struck that they were glowing.

“Pick you guys up later?” Ian called after them but they had already mixed into the crowd surrounding Mickey.

“Any last comments, Mr. Gallagher?” one of the earlier reporters asked as Ian turned around to leave for the exit.

Ian smiled forcefully, “It seems like the beginning of a great season.”

                                                                                             8  
“And last but not least, I want to thank the fans that support me no matter what happens on or off the field. Thank you to everyone who’s tuning in on this and sharing the moment with me,” Mickey said as his closing sentences. Then he quickly signed his name on the team’s contract and shook hands with the men sitting around him. The whole speech was a load of shit that Kev made him say because he told Mickey that if he didn’t reach out to the fans at some point in his career, they would slowly start to disappear. Not a single word of it was anything Mickey would actually say. The whole thing was gay as hell and Mickey was already too much of _that_ as it was.

“Mickey will now be answering a few questions,” Kev said into the microphone as soon as the clapping calmed down. Kev was sitting on Mickey’s right side while the Los Angeles Stars’ coach, president, and owner sat on Mickey’s left side. Mickey thought that he hadn’t seen so many rich white men in expensive suits since his last press signing.

     Kev pointed at a pretty blonde lady with rectangular, librarian glasses. “Mickey,” she smiled like she was ready to devour him, “What are you hoping to gain out of your stay with the Los Angeles Stars?”

“I’m looking forward to a change of scene,” Mickey replied smoothly and Kev sighed with relief next to him. If Kev was wound tightly about anything, it was how Mickey addressed the media. He was already soccer’s favorite hard-ass; he didn’t need to be soccer’s most hated hard-ass.

“The Los Angeles Stars already have a pretty powerful mid-field, especially with players like Ian Gallagher. Are you in any way worried that your position might be compromised by stepping into their team?” another reporter asked; his balding head and confident demeanor told Mickey that he had been doing his job for a long time.

“A Milkovich is always up for a fight,” he said and that got a laugh out of the crowd. What they didn’t know was that Mickey wasn’t worried at all. Coach Smith had promised him (on the down low, of course) a starting position as long as Mickey managed to play nicely with the rest of the team.

Kev pointed at another reporter.

“Were there any agreements between you and the board of directors before joining the team? It’s a pretty well known fact that you are a, um, determined player and it gets you into a lot of trouble on the field. How were the rules laid out for you?” the young reporter asked.

     Mickey almost burst out laughing because he thought they were reading minds or something, but instead stared the guy down like only a Milkovich could. “I’m only gonna say this once,” Mickey started a little harsher than Kev would have wanted, “Soccer is a contact sport. I’ll never apologize or try to excuse the way I play. I am an aggressive player, it’s the way I’ve always been, it’s the way I’ll always be. The day I feel like I’ve taken it too far is the day I’ll stand in front of all you guys and say sorry. Until then, I’m gonna strap on my boots and treat the game like I always have. Next question.”

                                                                                             9  
     Later that night, Mandy and Mickey were lounging in his living room flipping through the television channels, trying to get the hang of the new receiver while simultaneously searching for a good movie to watch. Mandy lifted her feet onto his glass coffee table; had it been any other person, he would have told them to not, but it was his sister, so he didn’t. She sighed sleepily. “The fuck are you staring at?” she asked without turning to look at him.

He cleared his throat and quickly averted his gaze away from Mandy. “The fuck you talkin’ about.”

She laughed, “You know I’m not dying right?”

“Yeah, not yet,” he blurted out before he could stop himself, but to his surprise she laughed even harder.

“Always the drama queen.”

“Whatever, fuck you,” he said and snatched the remote control out of her hands, “And also fuck you for letting Kev hire a three year old as my assistant. Now I gotta be around that diamond-crested princess all day.”

Mandy scrunched her face in massive disapproval and spat, “Oh, shut up, Mick. You like her and you know it!”

     Mickey huffed in defeat. He did like Esarosa. She was young, too young to be working for someone like him, but she wasn’t annoying in the way only teenagers could be. There was an aura of sophistication that clung around her and he dug it.  
On the drive home from the press signing, she told him his entire schedule for the next day. The. Entire. Schedule. The kid was smart; he’d give her that. She had to be, right? How else could someone manage high school and a Milkovich at the same time?

     Mandy was quietly chuckling to herself and it was beginning to get on his nerves so he finally caved in. “What?” he asked.

“There are people out in this world that would literally give up an arm to work for you and here waltzes in this little seventeen year old girl and casually slips into the job like-“

“Okay, can we not, yeah?” Mickey interrupted her and yanked the remote back out of her hands, “I’m sick of talking about her. I get it, she’s fucking made of gold or whatever.”

“She basically is! And you started this fucking conversation so don’t even give me that shit. Did you read up on her family his-“

“Yeah, yes, okay? Yes, I Googled her family’s history. Now can we just fucking find a movie and shut the fuck up for the rest of the night. I had a long ass day and I’m gonna have an even longer one tomorrow.”

Mandy rolled her lips into her mouth for all of two seconds before saying, “How about that Ian Gallagher, though…”

“What the fuck about him?” Mickey lowered the control and looked at her from the corner of his crystal blue eye. A strand of his dark hair fell into his face but he didn’t brush it away for fear that Mandy would think he was fidgeting. Instead, he sat perfectly still and willed himself to keep his breaths steady.

     He couldn’t let her know just how much he was interested in that alien looking piece of shit. He couldn’t let her know that Gallagher’s fake smile was hotter than any real smile he’d ever seen. He couldn’t let her know that he was sort of disappointed to watch him leave after their initial meeting. And he definitely couldn’t let Mandy know that he was secretly searching for Gallagher after the signing ended.

“He’s pretty hot,” she said.

“So what, bitch?” he glared at her, “You think just cause he’s a fucking fag too, I’m gonna be sticking my dick in him or what?”

“Ooooo, touchy touchy,” she teased, “Did I strike a nerve, Mick?”

“Jesus Christ,” he sighed, rolled his eyes and continued to flip through the channels.

“I’m just saying…one thing leads to another, you guys get roomed together during an away game…”

Mickey stood up, unable to listen to his sister’s bullshit anymore. His sex life was definitely none of her business. “Holy shit, you never stop talking,” he mumbled.

“Maybe he offers to-“

“Mandy! Will you shut the fuck up!” he yelled from the kitchen as she struggled to breathe in between her cackling.

“You’re totally crushing on Ian Gallagher!” she cried.

“I swear to fucking God, Mandy…”

“You so do!” she shouted and wiped a tear from her eye. Despite where the joke was aimed at, he couldn’t help but enjoy the sound of her laughter. Her red-faced, wet-eyed, cant-breathe, being was a sight for sore eyes and she deserved ever moment of bliss she got. Mandy was a fighter and it was comforting to see her beam.

He let out a tiny, barely there, chuckle, “Go to hell, fucktwat.”

She pointed her skinny index finger at him and exclaimed, “I’ll see you there, Mr. Gallagher!”

     Mickey ripped a magnet off the side of his stainless-steel refrigerator, chucked it across the kitchen and into the living room with as much force as he could muster. She dodged it, clutching her sides and lazily toppling onto her shoulder. Mickey thought that maybe Los Angeles wasn’t so bad after all. The weather was predictable, the people all resembled one another, and the air was polluted as all hell…but Mandy was smiling. His new home was slowly starting to warm up, he finally had an assistant that wasn’t dumber than rocks, and the new season seemed promising. So even if Gallagher’s face flashed across Mickey’s mind, that was his business and his business only.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if there are any errors I need to fix.


	3. The play is OVER

Ch. 3: The play is OVER

“Rise and shine, Mickey Milkovich!” a loud voice echoed through the walls of his room. The groggy, ex-thug groaned and buried his sleepy face into his pillow.

     Esarosa was strutting around his room and opening the dark curtains so the bright California sun seeped in through the windows. “Rise, Mickey Milkovich! RIIIISE!” her hands were dramatically lifted in the air.

“What are you parting the red sea or something? Get the fuck out of my room, Esarosa,” he spat but that only served to get a laugh out of the seventeen year old.

     Her coal-colored hair was thrown into a messy ponytail and she was wearing her thick-framed eyeglasses. Had it not been for her all black business attire (the same color scheme as the day before might he add), Mickey would have thought she was bumming it. “I’ve scheduled for us to arrive at the stadium an hour ahead of time so we can get you settled in,” she said.

“Esa-fucking-rosa, I’m gonna light you on fire while you sleep if you don’t get your ass out of my room in the next five seconds!”

Again, she laughed. “I’m sorry to inform you that unlike your lovely home, mine comes equipped with guards at the front gate so strangers don’t prance in and out as they please. You should really look into some home security,” suddenly, she ducked to dodge the pillow Mickey threw at her head, “Maybe become familiar with motion sensors as well.”

     Then without a warning, she ripped the sheets off of his body, leaving him in the freezing air with only his boxers on. “What the fu-“ he started but was interrupted by Esarosa; she didn’t seemed flustered in the least by the sight of her barely clothed boss.

“Enough,” she held her hand up, “No more messing around, Mickey. We have a long list of things to do before we head over to the field and your whining is not going to allow us to accomplish any of it on time.”

     With that said, she turned around and walked out of the room. He rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up. A moment later, she briefly came back into his bedroom and snatched up the sheets that were lying on the floor. “Your breakfast is ready whenever you are,” she added before finally disappearing again.

     He rubbed his heavy eyes with the balls of his hands and sighed. His instincts made him reach out for a beer on his nightstand, but instead he was met by a glass of water. It was cold, as if Esarosa had recently placed it there. Mickey rolled his eyes. She was a fucking pain the ass, but Goddamn was she good at her job. It was almost impossible to believe she was so young. Then again, Mickey wasn’t much of a child at her age either. It was almost depressing to see kids age before their time.

He heard the patio door in the kitchen open up. “Are those pancakes?” Mandy asked enthusiastically.

Mickey leapt to his feet and practically sprinted out of his room. “Don’t eat my pancakes, bitch!”

                                                                                          2  
     When Ian laced on his boots, he didn’t feel the weight of the world on his shoulders anymore. It was cliché, he knew, but the only time he genuinely felt liberated was when he was wearing his cleats. It didn’t matter where he was; he could have been running drills on a dirt field down in Mexico for all he cared. As long as he was wearing his boots, there was solid ground underneath his feet, and a soccer ball was near by, Ian didn’t feel worn down by the shackles of his past.

     Which is exactly why he showed up to the field an hour and a half earlier than he needed to be. It was his first official practice with Mickey Milkovich and he was feeling restless. Not to mention the awful night’s sleep he (barely) had.

     He was standing by the sidelines taking a few sips of water and trying to catch his breath after running a few sprints. There was a pile of soccer balls (curtsey of the team’s sponsor) off the side. Ian threw his water bottle onto the ground and immediately kicked one of the balls across the field. He sprinted as fast as his muscular legs could take him. When he reached the ball, he pulled one of the fancy ball skills he learned in his beginner years as an athlete and dribbled it all the way back to his initial stand point.

“Woo! Don’t wear yourself out, Gallagher!” he heard someone shout.

     Ian had never hit the breaks faster than he did then. After quickly scanning his surroundings, Ian’s eyes landed on none other than Mickey fucking Milkovich. “Fuck my life,” Ian whispered to himself.

     Mickey’s assistant-Esarosa?- stood alongside him as he dropped his large practice bag near Ian’s water bottle. Esarosa took a seat on one of the bench’s much-too-expensive, plush seats.

“What are you doing here, Mickey?” Ian asked seriously.

Mickey chuckled. “It’s great to see you too, man.”

     Ian didn’t say anything and continued to stare him down. Mickey was beginning to think that maybe Milkovichs weren’t the only ones blessed with such a menacing glare.

“That smart piece of shit over there,” Mickey said, pointing a thumb at Esarosa, “Thought it would be a great idea to come early and get to know the place.”

“Whatever. Just stay on that half of the field,” Ian nodded his head at the opposite half of the grass area and Mickey’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. Never in his life did he ever allow anyone to tell him what to do without so much as a please, but there was something about the venom laced in the redhead’s tone that told the ex-thug he wasn’t one for playing games. Mickey admired that.

“Yeah, okay, Gallagher,” Mickey smiled charmingly.

     As Ian turned back around, he noticed Mickey’s assistant eying them with an expression that said she knew more than she was letting on, but as soon as their eyes met, she focused her attention back to her Blackberry. When Mickey turned around, all he saw was her nose dug into her phone so he didn’t think twice about it, but Ian knew something was up with Esarosa. The saying “young but not naive” popped into the redhead’s mind.

     For thirty minutes, the boys didn’t say a word to one another. Ian liked it that way but he could sense Mickey’s growing urge to start a conversation. Finally, Mickey decided he’d try his own approach to the situation.

      He kicked his ball at Ian and it hit him on his thigh, eliciting a yelp from the hot redheaded kid. Mickey felt satisfied when the other boy’s gorgeous eyes faced his way. “My bad,” Mickey said, smiling boyishly.

Ian huffed and passed it back to him.

     Not five minutes had passed and Mickey did it again. He was only trying to get Gallagher’s attention but it was clear Ian did not appreciate his (not-so-subtle) attempts at making friends. If anything, Ian thought Mickey was just trying to get a rise out of him. “Knock it off, Milkovich,” Ian spat as he passed the ball back, a little rougher that time.

“All this passing back and forth, maybe we should just run some warm-ups together,” Mickey suggested and did everything possible to stop the creeping blush on his face. He knew exactly what kind of warm-ups he’d like to play out with Gallagher but none of them included cleats.

“I’m good,” Ian said.

     Esarosa snorted from her seat on the bench but quickly pretended like she didn’t hear anything. Mickey gave her a sour glance.

“And you shouldn’t really be here,” Ian told Esarosa, she looked up once again, “The benches and field are only for the team and staff.”

     He didn’t know why, but for a second Mickey thought Esarosa would be too agitated to respond. Instead, she smiled coolly, a skill Mickey just knew she learned from her father, and said, “I think it’ll be okay just this one time.”

“Yeah, come on, _pendejo_ ,” Hector popped up out of no where, “Let the pretty lady stay this once. It’s always a giant sausage fest around here.”

     Esarosa rolled her eyes while Ian, realizing he was outnumbered, sighed and let it go. Hector set his water bottle down next to Mickey’s stuff. “I’m Hector Vasquez,” he said and extended his hand out to Mickey.

     Mickey shook it but didn’t say anything in reply. That fucker knew exactly who Mickey was; there was no need for an introduction on his part. Mickey thought the guy was friendly; like, creepily friendly. Then, Hector turned towards Esarosa and flirtatiously asked, “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

Esarosa forced a grin but Mickey spoke up before she did. “Not your type.”

“Oh, my bad, _hermano_. I didn’t know glitter eyes was your girl,” Hector said apologetically and that made Esarosa’s blood boil.

     Not only did Mickey speak for her as if she wasn’t capable of doing so herself, but then this Rico Suave character obnoxiously admits guilt for seemingly crossing a line with Mickey over his “girl.” If Esarosa could roll her eyes a centimeter farther, she’d be able to see the outside of her brain.

“She’s definitely not my girl, _hermano_ ,” Mickey responded and added the last part sarcastically.

“And my name is Esarosa Wolfe,” she said through clenched teeth. Mickey thought he’d end up breaking Hector’s teeth, but he was beginning to think he’d be the one prying his assistant off of that jokester.

“No shit,” Hector said, “Your dad got me off on a DUI charge a few years back.”

"Shocker," Esarosa responded with arched eyebrows. 

     Then it was Mickey’s turn to snort. Hector brushed off her comment with a chuckle; it made Esarosa’s skin crawl. Hector sauntered towards her. “Maybe I should take you out as my special way of saying thanks. When are you free, sweetheart?”

     If she wasn’t throwing up before then, she sure felt the bile rising after that comment. “I’ve just now racked my brain trying to find an open space in my calendar and unfortunately there is none…not even after my eighteenth birthday.”

Hector halted in his tracks. “Oh shit. Not even the powers of your father could get me off a jailbait charge.”

“Yes, because even when you are responsible, it is the underage victim’s fault. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you felt the need to sleep with a seventeen year old.”

“Okay, okay!” Ian called from off to the side, “Hector get your ass out here and let’s warm up.”

     Hector smirked at Esarosa before running off. Mickey stood staring at his assistant for a moment longer. “Can I help you with something, Mickey Milkovich, or may I go back to reading the important emails Mr. Ball sent me?”

Mickey didn’t say anything and Hector called him from across the field, “Mickey, come on! Join us!”

 

“So, what’s your story, bro?” Hector asked Mickey as the three of them passed the ball in a triangle formation.

“Don’t really have one,” he grunted. Ian stole a glance from the corner of his eye.

“Bullshit,” Hector pressed on, “Everyone knows about your family. You guys got, like, fucking famous when you got signed onto the Chicago Flames.”

Mickey suddenly stopped the ball with the bottom of his cleats. “My family has fuck-all to do with you,” he spat in the most spiteful voice he could muster. Hector seemed to visibly freeze.

“Pass the ball, Mick,” Ian broke the silence. Nobody called him Mick besides Mandy but he had to admit, he liked the sound of it coming from Ian’s voice.

     Mickey did as he was told and passed the ball to Ian. Little by little, the rest of the team started showing up. Their trainers arrived and they began to warm up. It was their coaches that turned up last.

“Milkovich!” their head coach called out but Mickey pretended like he didn’t hear him because that was not the name they should be addressing him by.

“Mickey!” their coach said that time and Mickey turned around. Coach Smith waved for the ex-thug to approach him so Mickey jogged over there.

“What’s up, coach?”

The team’s assistant coach, owner, and lead trainer were standing near Coach Smith. “We just wanted to wish you good luck on your first day of practice,” the owner smiled but it was crooked and almost sinister.

     Mickey thought he looked like the cat from Alice in Wonderland. Then the term “fat cat” popped into his head and he rolled his lips into his mouth to prevent himself from laughing.

“Yeah, we’ve had a handful of new players struggle to fit in well with the team,” the lead trainer added.

Mickey nodded his head. “I’ll be fine. Hey, have you guys seen my manager anywhere around this fucking place?”

The men seemed to be taken aback by his crude response. “No, sir,” the trainer said.

     Mickey didn’t even bother to tell him to call him Mickey. He was too busy searching the field for Esarosa. “What about a girl. She’s my height with the same color hair and nerdy ass glasses?” Mickey asked the group.

“Ms. Wolfe?” Coach Smith asked and Mickey nodded, “I sent her up to our presidential box.”

     Mickey looked up at the room way above their heads. There was a glass wall and a bit of a glare but Mickey could easily make her out. She was standing right at the edge with both arms crossed across her chest and a studious expression on her face. Mickey guessed she wasn’t as put together about the change in scenery as she led on. He was a bit of a deer in the headlights when he first started off as well. It was normal for someone who wasn’t accustomed to that lifestyle to feel lost.  
Mickey flipped her off and she caught it, pretending to put it in her pocket. Then Kev stood next to her and waved down at Mickey. Mickey nodded before concentrating back on the men surrounding him. “Anyways…Ima get back to the team.”

     Just then, his team ran by and he smoothly joined the group, leaving the men behind without another glance. 

     Some two and a half hours later, after putting up with countless dickhead remarks by his oh-so-kind, new teammates, Mickey was just about over it. The team was melodramatically rough towards him, much past the normal fierceness an athlete would put into his or her game. They hardly passed the ball to him, but when they did the passes were too short, making him run farther than needed. They gave him nothing but attitude and made sure to obviously exclude him from everything they did. Mickey was so fed up with their thirteen-year-old girl bullshit, but Coach Smith’s “play nice” rule kept ringing through his head so he had to keep his cool. The last thing he needed was to lose his starting spot because some assholes thought it was okay to fuck with Mickey Milkovich.

     The team was lashing out in the only way they could because none of them were able to keep up with him. Mickey was just too talented, too determined, too aggressive. Gallagher was the only one, THE ONLY ONE, that was quick enough to give Mickey a challenge. His game was almost as good as Mickey’s and it left the ex-thug wondering why the fine-ass redhead hadn’t gotten any offers to play overseas yet. Gallagher had all the right footwork, fitness, aim, and more. Granted, his shots needed a little more power behind them and his approach was a bit too wimpy, but Mickey could definitely teach him a thing or two about playing dirty.

When it came to soccer, of course.

     Ian was determined to put Mickey in his place. The tiny, black-haired, shitsack took every opportunity he could to show off. Ian was getting so fucking sick of it. Yeah, okay, they got it. He was Mickey fucking Milkovich and shit. No one needed to be reminded of how easily he could dribble circles around them or how effortless it was for him to knock them on their asses. Ian would agree that the team was being overly disrespectful to the new guy, but maybe he deserved it by the way he played. And no, Ian was not jealous, okay? He didn’t have a problem keeping up with Mickey. If anything, he was hoping Mickey would single him out as a threat. Ian wanted Mickey to feel just as he did; like his spot could be taken right from under him at any given moment. Ian wanted Mickey to feel a sense of unease when he stepped onto the field. That was not Mickey’s field. It was Ian’s.

“Line up, ladies!” their lead trainer called out after a brief water break, “I forgot to get the pennies washed up, so we’re gonna have to separate the teams the old fashioned way…shirts versus skins. If I point to you, it means you’re a skin.”

     Mickey prayed to God that Ian was a skin. If Gallagher’s upper body was anything like his legs, Mickey was about to shit his pants. The team’s trainer went down the line of young men and pointed at every other one. It was Mickey’s lucky day, for Ian was appointed the duty of taking off that unnecessary t-shirt. Almost immediately after the sight of Ian’s bare body, Mickey’s jaw hit the turf. Gallagher was fucking hot…blazing…fucking smoking. Mickey had to remind himself that he didn’t live in a world in which it was okay for him ogle at beautiful men.

     He cleared his throat as coach skipped him and then scurried off to the area the trainers divided off with cones. It seemed as if they were going to scrimmage amongst themselves; Mickey was so down. Drills and running plays was one thing but actually getting to play the sport was what he lived for.

     He bent down to tighten his laces while the trainer divided the rest of the men. Suddenly, a hard hit on his right side knocked him onto his shoulder. One of his teammates had kicked a soccer ball so hard that it left the ball’s pattern on Mickey’s thigh skin. He violently jumped to his feet and rushed in on the guy that kicked it.

“You wanna fucking die?” he shouted. The teammate had dreadlocks down to his bellybutton and a shit-eating grin on his face.

“And he finally cracks,” a second teammate added.

Mickey was a few feet from dreadlocks, ready to beat the living shit out of him, when Gallagher quickly stepped in between them. “Alright, that’s it!” he yelled over the ruckus.

     Dreadlocks and the other teammate stood quiet as Mickey fumed. The ex-thug was so heated that he didn’t even notice Gallagher’s hand placed firmly on his chest. Mickey willed himself to calm his breathing. He stepped back, if only to put some distance between he and the shirtless piece of Greek God before him.

“Let’s just play,” Mickey said not taking his eyes off of dreadlocks, “It’s easy to get me when you can, huh? Since, you know, you’re always eating my fucking dust and all.”

Dreadlocks dropped the smirk from his face and Ian rolled his eyes. 

                                                                                       3  
“Shit, that was close,” Kev whispered so only he and Esarosa could hear.

     They were sitting close to the glass wall, watching Mickey dominate his first practice. Kev saw dreadlocks aim that ball directly at Mickey and kick it without a moment’s hesitation. It gave him the same suspense that horror flicks did. Esarosa sat at Kev’s side, acting as if Mickey’s antics didn’t keep her on her toes as well.

“Petty drama,” she muttered, “They’ll be over it by the end of next week.”

Kev side-eyed her. “Yeah, well let’s hope you’re right, homegirl. Or else we’re gonna have a huge fucking problem on our hands.”

“You mean you’re hands, Kev. I’ll remind you that I’m only in charge of Mickey’s personal life, not his professional life.”  
“Well if shit hits the fan, we won’t have a need for you anyways, Ms. Wolfe,” he shot back.

Esarosa went back to typing away at her Blackberry.

“Maybe we should just pay a bunch of whores to sleep with the players and say it was a gift from Mickey,” he whispered again so only he and Esarosa were the recipients of such stupidity.

“Or we could respect women and not use them as bargaining chips,” she replied without looking up from her phone. Esarosa was a master at showing as little emotion as possible.

“I’m desperate,” he said almost in a whine.

“Just let it play out,” she said, “I have an overwhelming gut feeling that all of this will play itself out nicely.”

     Kev turned to watch the scrimmage once more. As the soccer ball fell into play, Mickey didn’t hesitate to take over it. Dreadlocks immediately came at him but he swiftly rolled around him. When dreadlocks wouldn’t let up, Mickey gently kicked it in between the guy’s legs and ran past him. He laughed but was quickly humbled as Gallagher stole the ball away from him and dribbled it to the corner.

     Mickey couldn’t see anyone else but the redhead as he chased after him in an attempt to redeem himself. Ian took it all the way to the very edge of the cones and shielded the ball with his body. Mickey stood right behind him ready to strike from whatever angle Gallagher chose to take.

     To everyone’s surprise, Gallagher slid it beneath Mickey (just as Mickey has done to dreadlocks) and spun around so quickly that Mickey lost his footing and fell to the ground. Kev gasped and sat up in his seat. Esarosa peeked an eye over her phone.

     Mickey got up and ran after Ian once more. Ian was ridiculously fast. Mickey was chasing after him like a puppy would to a bone.

“Shit…” Kev kept mumbling under his breath, “Did you drive Mickey here today?”

“Yes, I did, Mr. Ball,” was her reply.

“Then I feel bad for you. He’s gonna be fucking pissed on the ride home.”

                                                                                        4  
     Mickey was growing restless. Ian was dragging him around for what seemed like hours. Logically, it was only a few minutes, but a few minutes in game time was practically hours.

     Finally, Ian tried to side pass Mickey and the ex-thug managed to swipe the ball from him. Mickey dribbled it to the far left corner but before he could reach it, a hard shoulder to shoulder shove sent Mickey off the ball and almost to the ground again. Ian took control of the ball just as he’d done before.

“Alright, fine, Gallagher,” Mickey mumbled to himself.

     He didn’t want to use excessive force on the redhead since he obviously fancied him, but if Ian was willing to push his buttons, then Mickey would be willing to give him just what he asked for. As Ian sprinted to the other side of the coned area, Mickey came at him from behind and knocked Gallagher on his perfectly firm ass. The redhead looked up from the turf and didn’t take his time in getting back to his feet.

“Fuck you, Mick!” he shouted but Mickey was already to far away for him to say anything.

Ian charged at Mickey with all his force. He briefly registered their trainers yelling for them to stop the play but Ian didn’t give a shit. He knocked Mickey off the ball just as he had beforehand. Mickey retaliated with the same force.

“The play is OVER!” Coach Smith roared.

     Mickey and Ian halted; their heavy breaths were the only things heard over an uncomfortable silence that fell over the team.

“These plays are meant to be a group effort. That’s enough egotistical ball hogging for one day,” Coach Smith said more quietly that time, “Hit the showers. We’re done for today.”

“No cool down?” dreadlocks called out.

Coach Smith knitted his eyebrows at him. “Just get the hell out of my face, yeah?”

Mickey stormed off, not even bothering to look or say anything to anyone else. He snatched his bag off the ground and headed for the exit while everyone else went straight to the changing room.

Mickey was so, so fucking over it.

                                                                                        5  
     On the drive home, Esarosa was silent. She plugged her phone into her car and a band called Shoelaces was quietly playing. He wasn’t sure if she was mad at him or if she was just waiting for him to speak up first. Mickey decided to give it a shot.

“So…you grew up with butlers and shit?” he asked her.

“And shit,” she replied calmly.

     Mickey’s shoulders relaxed. Although he would never admit it, he couldn’t handle another person hating his guts at that moment. He was actually looking forward to seeing Mandy and basking in his sister’s (twisted) unconditional love. “If your dad is some hot shot lawyer and you guys are fucking loaded, why are you working as someone’s bitch?”

     Esarosa laughed. “For starters, I’m definitely not your ‘bitch’, Mickey Milkovich. I’m your guardian angel, at least. You’d lose your colorful little mind if you had to do half of the duties I do for you. And secondly, I’m curious as to how you know Mr. Wolfe’s status as a lawyer.”

     Mickey searched his brain for a lie but was too exhausted to give a full shit. So he grunted, “I fucking Googled you, okay. Fucking sue me.”

     She giggled and for a second, she actually sounded her age. The darkness had fallen over Los Angeles and street lamps were the only source of luminescence apart from glowing signs. The lights fell upon her face gently and elegantly. Mickey found himself thinking that if he were straight, Esarosa would be the type of girl he’d go for: strong, smart, and serious.

“It’s a nice switch-up,” she finally said and glanced at him, “I’ve been waited on hand and foot since I was a baby, so it’s nice to finally take a break from it all and explore a career I’m interested in.”

“What? Being a personal assistant?”

“No, Mickey…management. I want to do what Kev does.”

Mickey scoffed. “Just say the word and you can take over his position.”

“And then be stuck with you?” she cried, “No thank you. I don’t care how fantastic it would look on college applications.”

He chuckled. “I doubt you need any help getting into college. Your dad probably owns half of th-“

“You don’t understand my point, Mickey,” she interrupted, “I don’t do anything unless it’s for my greater good. My position as valedictorian, volunteering countless hours on charities, slaving hours on after school clubs, taking this job until summer: I do all of this so I can accomplish things on my own. Too many times people glance me over because they think I’m just another silver spooned brat whom relies on her practically absent father for everything.My goal is to get into a university without the help of my father. That is the only thing I want, Mickey. I want to be my own person. I am burdened with the connotation behind my last name and I want to shy away from it as much as possible. You should have seen the way your coach looked at me when I told him who I was.”  


Mickey remained silent, because he didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” she finally added, “I probably sound so ridiculous whining about my problems after the life that you have had.”

He smirked at her. “Sounds like I’m not the only one Googling people.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled awkwardly, as if she was avoiding something.

“Look…just cause you were wrapped in silk sheets or whatever when you were a baby and your dad didn’t beat the shit out of you doesn’t mean you don’t have problems too,” he said truthfully. Esarosa had never felt as comfortable around her boss as she did right then. There was a sincerity in his tone that made her want to start crying, but alas, she was a Wolfe and much like the Milkovichs, they did not cry in front of other people. “Everyone gets fucked in the head one way or another, Esarosa.”

     For a while Esarosa didn’t say anything. A faint smile danced on her lips. “You are pretty cool, Mr. Mickey Milkovich. I don’t care what Ian Gallagher says about you.”

Mickey sat up in the leather seat. “He said something to you? What did he say? Was it bad? Or really bad?”

Esarosa burst out laughing. “It was a joke, Mickey.”

He scowled and leaned back once more.

“So, what does your sister, Mandy, dedicate her life to?”

“Fuck you is what she dedicates her life to,” he grumbled.

     Bells went off in Esarosa’s head at the sound of his grumpy tone. There was that charming Mickey Milkovich Kev warned her about. She turned up the speaker volume on the car’s stereo as the corners of her mouth slowly curled upwards. Esarosa Wolfe definitely knew more than she was letting on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so i posted both Ch. 2 and 3 together. Let me know what you think and if there are any grammar errors i should fix! <3 mumbles-monaghan


	4. You'll thank me later

Ch. 4: You'll thank me later    

     Lip walked into Ian’s living room and set his laptop case on the floor. Ian was sitting on the couch, staring at the TV like a zombie. Coincidentally, the redhead’s favorite zombie apocalypse show was on.

“You okay?” Lip asked.

Ian nodded. “Yeah…uh, just tired I guess. Not looking forward to tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?”

Ian narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his brows. “Fucking speed training, Lip.”

“Whoa,” he said and threw his hands up in surrender, “Forgive me for not remembering.”

“Isn’t that part of your job description?”

     Lip shrugged his shoulders and laughed. Ian sighed and turned off the TV. Lip started to get worried. He’d never seen Ian turn off that show before. “Hey...thanks for letting me crash here until my place gets renovated,” Lip called out, but Ian only saluted him, much like a soldier would, without saying another word.

     Lip bit his lower lip and plopped himself on the white couch. Something was seriously eating at his younger brother.

2

     The next day couldn’t have been better for Mickey. Of course he and Ian would be paired up when their trainer sorted out partners. He wasn’t completely over their little spat from last Friday’s practice but he definitely wasn’t angry. Honestly, Mickey enjoyed the redhead’s presence. Not only because Ian was such a fucking sight for sore eyes, but also ‘cause he liked the way Gallagher challenged him. He pushed Mickey to do better, run faster, shoot harder, aim cleaner; Ian was a force Mickey had never been around and he was basking in every second of it.

“If you fucking let go of these motherfucking bands, I will kill you, Mick,” Ian spat, shaking Mickey out of his thoughts.

     He looked down at the rubber straps in each of his hands and smirked. The midfielders were running resistance bands. Basically, the runner would strap on a torso brace and attach two, long, rubber bands on either side of it before taking off at a dead sprint. The other person would pull back on the bands as much as they could in an attempt to slow the runner down. It was supposed to increase speed and muscle mass or some shit. Mickey wasn’t sure, because back in Europe they used parachutes like normal athletes.

“I’m serious, Mickey,” Ian glared up at him from his sprinting stance on the synthetic grass, “If you let go and they whip me, I’ll choke you out with them.”

Mickey couldn’t help but smile adorably. “Everybody needs to get whipped once and a while, Gallagher.”

     Ian’s cheeks heated up and he quickly turned his face away from Mickey.

“Okay, ladies,” their lead trainer called out, “At the sound of the whistle, take off.”

     Hector and Dreadlocks were to the right of them. Hector was holding the bands while Dreadlocks was in sprinting stance. Hector smiled at Mickey and it took everything inside of the ex-thug not to scoff. Between their first encounter on the previous Friday all the way up to that day, Mickey had the pleasure of experiencing Hector’s inappropriate comments and plain disrespect of every woman on the planet. If Mickey had to sit through one more stupid ass “fuck, marry, kill” in the changing room, he’d rip his eardrums out.

“Ay, guey, your girl always follow you around?” Hector asked and nodded his head in the direction of the presidential suite above the stadium seats.

Mickey knitted his eyebrows in confusion. “My gir?-“

     He was cut off by Ian’s sudden takeoff. However, Mickey took a second to balance himself before beginning to tug on the rubber straps. “Gallagher, what the fuck?” Mickey grunted, but easily kept up with Ian’s speedy pace.

     When they reached the other side of the field, Gallagher’s chest was violently rising and falling as he fought to catch his breath. Even though Mickey was breathing heavily, it did not compare to Ian's breaths (who’d worked twice as hard with the resistance bands on). The rest of the midfielders were half way across the field.

“What the fuck was that?” Mickey huffed, “What happened to waiting for the whistle?”

Ian placed his hands on top of his head. “Fuck the whistle. I can’t stand hearing Hector talk about-“ he breathed in threw his nose, “About Esarosa. Reminds me of Debbie.”

“Debbie? Your little sister?”

     Ian nodded and started to unstrap himself from the abdominal brace. He handed it to Mickey in silence. As the brunette struggled to match up the Velcro tie-ups, the rest of the midfielders started joining them.

Dreadlocks pushed a loose lock out of his face and struggled to catch his breath. “Way to play fair, Ian,” he said.

Ian shot him a half-assed side grin.

“Seriously, hermano, not cool,” Hector said as he strapped himself into Dreadlocks’ abdominal brace.

Mickey huffed in frustration. “God damnit! Gallagher, will you fucking help me out with this.”

     Ian fixed the Velcro straps and rolled his lips into his mouth so his smile didn’t show. As Mickey got into sprinting stance on the sideline, Ian noted how intimidating Mickey looked like that. The ex-thug had cut the sleeves off his practice shirt, so his muscles were bulging in the afternoon sunlight. The muscles in his legs tightened as he steadied himself on the turf with his tattooed hands. Ian liked the “Fuck U-Up” plastered right where everyone could see. It was refreshing to see someone who blatantly didn’t give a fuck in a career where image and athletic ability went hand in hand.

Still…the guy was a son of a bitch.

“This time wait for my God damn whistle, okay?” the lead trainer said, semi-annoyed.

     When the loud shriek blew, Mickey was off at a dead sprint. Hector was neck in neck with him, making it a little too obvious he was trying to compete with Mickey. Ian was desperately pulling on the rubber straps, trying with all his strength to hold Mickey back, but the guy was just too powerful. Mickey was like an untrained dog pulling on his leash while his owner struggled to take control.

     Although Hector was definitely competing against him, Mickey didn’t even give him the time of day. It was amusing to Gallagher and everyone else witnessing it happen. The redhead would have laughed had it not been for the shot of panic that stabbed through his body when the right rubber strap began to slip. “Shit, shit, shit,” he whispered, but Mickey was too in the zone to hear him.

     Ian figured he’d get a better grip of it if he wrapped it around his hand, but just as he let go of a few fingers, the strap shot out of his hand and whipped Mickey in the face. The loudest, angriest, most violent “fuck” he’d ever heard in his life came screeching out of Mickey’s mouth. Ian, frightened and unable to form clear thoughts, let go of the other strap, which only ended up snapping Mickey on his upper arm. “Gallagher, what the fuck?!” he yelled and dropped to his knees, clutching his face.

     The rest of the midfielders seemed to go about their business in an effort to finish the sprint before Mickey did. What a load of dicks.

“Holy crap, Mick!” Ian said and fell to his knees in front of Mickey, “Let me see. Move your hands.”

     A strike like that must have hurt like a bitch. Not only were those bands thick, but they had enough force pulling them back to do some serious damage. Ian was afraid Mickey’s eye had been struck.

“Mick, let me see it. Come on!” Ian repeated in a hurry.

     He could hear the trainers running their way as Mickey moved his hand out of his face. A deep red line stretched across Mickey’s right cheek and another red wound brightened across the top of his arm. Ian’s eyes widened.

     Fuck, that’s gotta sting.

3

     Up in the presidential suite Esarosa and Kev were accompanied by a guy who introduced himself as Lip. He said he was Ian’s manager slash brother, but Esarosa couldn’t see the resemblance at all. Lip’s light brown hair and much shorter stance couldn’t have been any further from Ian’s appearance.

     Lip was bragging beyond belief about Ian’s stats when Mickey suddenly got whipped in the face by the sprinting contraption. “Holy fuck me in the ass,” Kev murmured and covered his mouth with his balled up fist.

     Esarosa gasped but tried her hardest to conceal her worry. She figured Mickey would do one of two things: get up and shake it off like a trooper, or beat the living shit out of Ian. To no surprise at all, the ex-thug chose the latter and began to pumble the redhead’s face in. “Whoa!” Lip cried at the sudden act of violence.

     Ian, though, took no time in flipping Mickey over and pinning him down. He only managed to get a few hits in before Mickey kneed him in the gut and got on top of Ian again. Their entire team, staff included, ran over to the boys. Some frantically tried to pry the scrappers off each other while the others stood back and enjoyed the show.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” Kev whispered defeated.

“No! Pre-season starts this weekend! If Ian gets hurt, he’s fucked!” Lip stated.

     Esarosa noticed a group of men huddled together on the other side of the suite spectating the scene on the field with disapproving expressions. She figured they were the other managers.

     Finally, the nonsense happening between the boys ended. Coach Smith seemed red in the face as he shouted at them. He pointed at Ian and then pointed to the right side. Then he pointed at Mickey and to the left side. “Wha- what the fuck is that?” Kev asked, confused about the LA Stars’ ways of discipline.

     The boys took off running in opposite directions. “Don’t worry,” Lip said, “It’s just a few laps. Coach Smith makes the guys run a mile around he field if they get into any trouble during practice. Like, talking during the coach’s speech, or continuously fucking up the drills, or ferociously attacking a teammate…you know, stupid shit.”

     The boys took off in opposite directions, but Esarosa was feeling her stomach tighten. “Did you say they run AROUND the field?”

“Yeah, why?” Lip asked.

     Esarosa stepped closer to the glass with both arms crossed across her chest. “Because that dumbass coach just sent them running in opposite directions.”

“So what?” Kev asked, but something clicked in Lip’s head as Ian and Mickey turned the corner and started to sprint towards each other faster than they had ever ran in their entire soccer career.

“Fuck!” Lip shouted.

     The trainers and players practically flew to the other sideline in an attempt to reach Ian and Mickey before the boys reached each other. Unfortunately, it was too late; Ian grabbed Mickey by the front of the shirt and swung him around before flattening him to the ground. The redhead lifted Mickey’s upper body off the ground only to send him on the ground again with a painful headbut.

     Blood was seeping out of their faces and knuckles. Sweat was dripping off of them, making their skin slip against each other. Mickey pinned Ian down and straddled him. He was about to land one final punch when something suddenly possessed Mickey and he stopped.

     Esarosa forced away the tiny grin playing on her lips. Mickey sat over Ian with his fist frozen in the air and a solid gaze locked on Ian’s face. From the looks of it, Ian was done hitting Mickey as well, because he lied completely still underneath the ex-thug without so much as moving a muscle.

“What the fuck is this?” Kev cried and stepped forward as well.

     Esarosa thought that she could watch them stare at each other like that all day long. However, the team’s trainers thought differently, because they ripped Mickey off of Ian and roughly lifted Ian onto his feet. Coach Smith yelled something else before the boys were dragged off the field and through the stadium doors.

“Fucking great! Now where are they going?” Lip asked.

Kev laughed and started walking towards the exit with Esarosa closely by his side. “To the principal’s office, man.”

4

     The inside of Coach Smith’s office was downright frightening. Painted in dark blues and purples, it truly did hold the middle school principal feel, but since it wasn’t Mickey’s first rodeo, he wasn’t so worked up about it. Ian, on the other hand, was sitting with his tail between his legs. Mickey’s lip was busted open and dripping blood while his left eye slowly swelled up. A thick, scarlet line crossed his cheek from the rubber band snap and a matching wound shone bitterly on his upper arm. Ian’s cheekbone was untouchable from how badly it hurt and his eye was also beginning to swell dramatically.

     Kev and Lip were standing in the back of the office, by the door, trying to contain their worry. Coach Smith liked to directly address the boys when scolding them, so it was pretty tough for the managers to remain silent. Esarosa was, after much debate, allowed to stay in the room. Mickey made it very clear that wherever he went, she went.

     Coach Smith sat in his swivel chair, red in the face and angry as if the boys had started the Apocalypse. “We had a mother fucking deal, Milkovich!” he roared, slamming his fist on the wooden desk, “We haven’t even had our first game yet and you’re already throwing down with a teammate!”

Mickey sensed Ian staring at him but he didn’t bother to turn in the redhead’s way.

“No. Throwing. Down!” Coach was losing his shit, “And you get your starting spot! How fucking hard-“

"Whoa!" Ian interrupted,"What?"

     Coach Smith suddenly froze and quickly glanced between Mickey and Ian. Kev sighed and placed his face into the palm of his hand. Esarosa locked her Blackberry's screen and tucked it into her back pocket.

"Yeah, what?" Lip asked more forcefully than Ian had.

Coach Smith sat down. "The starting spot."

Ian wrinkled his eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"

"MY starting spot, dumbass," Mickey said, "...we made a deal for it."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Lip stated.

Coach Smith huffed and locked gaze with Ian. "The deal was that if he played a clean game, he'd have his starting position."

"Which is MY position," Ian said.

Coach sighed, "Yeah, it's your position."

"And you were just going to give it to him just like that?" Ian asked.

"Just like that," Mickey smirked.

Esarosa snorted and put her head down. Lip seemed furious.

"Mickey, shut the fuck up," Kev whispered.

Lip placed his hands on his hips and said, "Okay, let me get this straight... You were gonna let Mickey fucking Milkovich walk onto the field and nonchalantly push Ian, the best fucking center midfielder in the entire United States, onto the bench?"

     There was a long pause while Coach Smith shifted uncomfortably in his leather computer chair. He ran a hand through his graying hair. "Yeah."

"Oh my fucking god!" Lip shouted, throwing his hands in the air from exasperation.

Mickey laughed.

"But the deal is over!" Coach stated firmly.

Mickey dropped his smug expression. "What? Coach!" he cried; there was a throbbing in his head that started to overbear the sting and swell coming from his face.

     Despite the scene unrolling in front of him, Ian paid no attention. Instead, his brain started running in different directions. His eyes scanned back and forth as he thought.

"Coach Smith, it's a little rash. Let's give it another try-" Kev began but Lip cut him off.

"I think he made his decision, Kevin."

"Coach-"

"No, Mickey," Coach Smith said, "We had a deal and you broke it. It's off."

"No it's not," Ian said quickly.

     Mickey bit his lower lip and tasted the blood trickling out of his cut. The rest of the men shut their mouths and Esarosa relaxed her shoulders.

"Ian, no," Lip said but Ian raised a hand to shut him up.

"Yes," Ian said, clearly knowing that he had the upper hand in that argument. After all, the last thing the team needed to know was that Coach Smith was cheating players out of their game time.

"What are you getting at, Gallagher?" Mickey asked.

Ian stood up. "What I'm saying, Mick, is that you get to keep the starting spot as center midfielder...and so do I," Ian smiled.

"That is _not_ our lineup, Ian," Coach Smith argued, "We play with _one_ center and _one_ center only."

"Well things are about to change here, Coach."

"Watch yourself, Red," Coach said and got to his feet so their faces were inches apart, "You're dispensable, son."

Ian's smile widened. "No...I'm not."

"Choose your words carefully, Ian, cause last I checked slander is illegal and I'd hate for you to get slapped with a big fat law suit."

"I know a great lawyer," Ian chuckled and sent Esarosa a wink.

     A slow smile spread across her face as Mickey turned to look at her. They exchanged knowing looks. "Let's do it," Mickey piped up, crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.

"Excuse me?" Coach Smith asked.

"I said let's fucking do."

     Although Kev and Lip did not agree with what was going on, they kept their mouths closed. Coach Smith sat down once more, making the tension in the room reduce by half its intensity. Ian carefully took a seat; he was feeling dizzy from all the punches to the face.

"Okay…we'll give it a shot for the scrimmage this Saturday," Coach said, "But _only_ if you both swear that there’ll be no more fighting going on. This is a team, god damnit. It's about time you guys started acting like it."

     Mickey and Ian left Coach Smith's office that day feeling on top of the world. Even if their faces were bloody, bruised, and aching, they felt more accomplished than they had all weekend; yet another reason why Mickey was kind of, sort of, really glad to have Ian Gallagher around.

5

     On the car ride home, Mickey insisted on driving Esarosa’s car because he wanted to know what it felt like to drive a Benz. He’d only ever driven hot rods and in Europe he didn’t even own a car. He liked the feel of the Benz; the excitement made him feel like a small child.

     Esarosa straightened out her white silk, button-up as she sat up straighter in the leather seat. She was typing something into her Blackberry (shocker).

“Again with this fucking band?” Mickey asked at a red light.

She looked up momentarily. “You’ll warm up to them, trust me, Mickey Milkovich. No one is immune to them.”

“Shoelaces,” he said with a sour face, “What kind of a fucking name is that, anyways?”

“It derives from the phrase ‘pick yourself up from your shoelaces’…I would think a professional athlete knew a thing or two about that.”

     He side-eyed her and pushed his tongue into the corner of his mouth; it was a habit he couldn’t seem to shake off. She was searching something on the Internet.

“Are you fucking shopping online?” he chuckled.

“Something like that,” she replied with a straight face and not so much as a peek in his direction.

“Yeah, whatever, loser.”

“I was actually wondering something today,” she said without putting her phone down, “Why doesn’t your team train on a separate training ground? I was researching your old team and the article I read said that soccer teams do not usually practice on the stadium’s field.”

Mickey shook his head. “I don’t even know what the fuck is up with this wack-ass team anymore.”

“Mr. Gallagher had a good idea by switching up the line-up, though. It’ll be interesting to see both of you dominating the cent-field.”

“The what?”

“The cent-field,” she repeated, “Is that not what it’s called?”

“It’s called the mid-field, Esarosa,” he chuckled.

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that you sound like a dumbass if you call it the fucking cent-field. Maybe you should keep reading those articles of yours,” he teased.

6

“Hey, Ian!” Lip called from the front door.

     Ian’s doorbell rang at almost nine o’clock at night; it was ridiculous. Lip barely had time to jump out of the bathtub and throw a towel over his naked body before the delivery guy broke the doorbell.

“Look, man, I have like four other deliveries to make before the end of the night, so can you just sign for it?” the pimpled teen asked hastily.

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” Lip sighed and quickly signed for the package.

     Ian emerged a few seconds after Lip closed the door. His hair was this way and that; he looked like he’d just woken up. “I was trying to sleep, Lip,” he groaned, “What is it?”

     But at the sight of the basket in Lip’s hands, Ian halted in place and pointed at it.“What-“

“I have no fucking clue.”

“But did you?...”

“Of course I didn’t fucking get you a fruit basket, Ian.”

     The redhead grabbed it out of his brother’s hands and set it down on the kitchen table.

“Is there a card?” Lip asked.

     Ian nodded and pulled it out before handing it to Lip. An assortment of chocolate covered fruit was arranged tastefully in the middle of a woven basket. The fruit was cut into many different shapes and sizes. Lip started laughing, so Ian put down the pineapple in his hands and asked who sent it.

“Take a guess,” was his brother’s reply.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ian spat and Lip laughed harder than he had before.

     Ian ripped the card out of his brother's hands and stormed off to his room while shouting, “It’s not fucking funny, Lip! Fucking asshole thinks this is funny?!”

7

     Mickey stepped into the kitchen wearing nothing but a t-shirt, striped boxers, and slippers. Mandy was raiding the fridge with both hands before hearing the sound of her brother’s approaching footsteps. “I really need, like, pickles or something,” she said.

He scoffed. “Then go buy some.”

“You think you could call Esarosa to bring us some?” she asked, but just then, Esarosa stepped through the front door holding Thai take-out in each hand.

“Too late, Mandy. Sorry,” the seventeen-year-old replied politely.

Mandy made a dejected face, “It’s okay.”

     Mickey took a seat at the kitchen island and Mandy followed suit as Esarosa placed the bags on top of the black-granite countertop. “Did you get the hot sauce?” Mickey asked gruffly.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Esarosa replied, “But I strongly disagree with your eating choices, Mickey Milkovich, and I doubt your nutritionist would agree with this meal. Plus, it’s far too late to be shoving your face with Thai food.”

“Yeah, Mick, it’s too late to be shoving your face with this,” Mandy said, stealing his plate away from him.

“Fuck you guys,” he whined and took his plate back.

 

"How does your face feel?" Esarosa asked.

Mickey shrugged his shoulders. "I've had worse."

     Esarosa frowned and gently took his chin between her thumb and index finger. She slowly turned his head from one side to the other. 

"What's the prognosis, doc?" Mandy asked jokingly and Esarosa narrowed her hazel eyes.

"Looks like death to me, ma'am," Esarosa said, "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you this."

     The girls started laughing. Never the less, Mickey did not find that amusing, so he ripped his face from his assistant's hands and rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything, his phone started ringing. He had to jump out of the tall barstool to reach it across the counter. The caller ID said it was an unknown number, so he just set it down again.

“You’re not gonna answer it?” Mandy asked.

“Nah. Probably just some fucker wanting to sell me something.”

“I'm going to answer it, then,” Esarosa said and Mickey shook his head, “It’s my job, Mickey.”

     Eventually, he got fed up with Esarosa’s disapproving stare and groaned before clicking “answer.” “What?” he stated.

“To Gallagher,” the voice on the other end began, “I probably could’ve handled the situation differently. From Mickey.”

“Uh, hello?” Mickey asked.

“Don’t fuck around, Milkovich!!” the voice on the other end screamed and Mickey jumped a little.

He quickly ran into the next room and sat on his couch so the girls wouldn’t hear what was going on. “Gallagher?” he asked.

“Of course it’s fucking Gallagher, you tiny piece of shit! You think this is fucking funny?! _Ha_   _ha_ , fruit for the fruit! I get it; _soooo_ fucking funny, asshole. You want me to fuck you up again?!”

Mickey’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Ian, what are you talking about?”

“The fruit basket, Mickey! The fucking fruit basket!”

“Ian! Chill out, man. I didn’t send you a fucking fruit basket.”

8

     Ian’s shoulders relaxed at the sound of Mickey’s honesty. Lip walked into Ian’s bedroom wearing a clean pair of pajama pants and took a seat on the loveseat in the corner. He gave Ian a questioning look but the redhead didn’t say anything.

“I swear to God, I didn’t send you some gay shit like that,” Mickey went on to say.

“Then who fucking did? It had your name…your fucking number,” Ian huffed.

9

     Mickey noticed Esarosa was trying to slyly sneak out of the house so he sprinted to stop her in her tracks. Mandy emerged from the kitchen a moment later with the takeout in her hands.

“Look, Gallagher,” Mickey said softly with his arm extended in front of Esarosa. She was trying her hardest not to fidget in front of his piercing glare. Mickey exhaled slowly, “I didn’t send you the basket, but I have a pretty good idea who did. And I’m sure she didn’t mean it as a fucked up joke.”

     Ian sighed on the other line and Mickey felt the tension between the two of them evaporating. For a while neither of them said anything, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that usually falls amongst people who don’t know what to say. It was calming, almost…enjoyable. “You _could_ have handled it differently, you know,” Ian finally said and that got a laugh out of the ex-thug.

“I had a good time kicking your ass, though,” Ian continued.

“Yeah okay, whatever you say, tough guy,” Mickey chuckled.

     The brunette could practically hear Gallagher’s smile on the other line before they hung up without another word. Mickey didn’t notice the smile still playing on his lips as he tossed the cell phone onto the couch.

“Ooohh shiiit…”Mandy trailed off, stuffing her mouth with a forkful of pad Thai.

10

“What was that about?” Lip asked as soon as Ian clicked the “end” button.

Ian shook his head slightly, a goofy grin taking over his face. “Mickey’s assistant sent the fruit basket without telling him,” he laughed, “Stupid…it’s so stupid.”

“What?” Lip asked, “You freaking out over nothing or the basket?”

“Mickey,” Ian replied.

“You like him now? Just this morning you wanted to rip his head off.”

Ian wiped the smile off his face quicker than lightning. “Yeah, I still do.”

Lip scoffed and stood up to leave his brother’s room. “If you say so, little brother. Oh, and do yourself a favor by icing your face, yeah? You're looking a little, uh, swollen.”

Ian flipped Lip off as he walked away. 

 

     For the next thirty minutes, Ian sat up in bed before falling asleep. He knew he should have been mad about the events that transpired that day. He should have been steaming, but he wasn’t. So what, maybe there was a part of him that was upset Mickey wasn’t the one who sent the basket and maybe there was a little voice in the back of his head telling him Mickey wasn’t half bad.

     Ian knew he had to focus on himself for Saturday’s friendly, but it was difficult when Mickey’s lame ass laugh was running through his head. Ian sighed and turned off the lights. He was being dumb. He had a career to think about.

11

“Wow, look at the time,” Esarosa said sheepishly, “My caretaker must be worried.”

“I’m calling bullshit on that,” Mandy exclaimed with a mouth full of food.

“My fucking balls he must be worried,” Mickey spat, “Explain.”

Esarosa shifted her weight from one foot to the other before brushing past Mickey. “I got the address from his manager and I put your name and number on the card, okay?” she said.

“You’re asking to get fired,” he threatened.

“Again, I’m calling bullshit on that,” Mandy exclaimed once more and Mickey shot her daggers that time.

“You’ll thank me later, Mickey Milkovich,” Esarosa said with one foot out the front door.

“I don’t need your fucking help to boost my career, Esarosa,” he cried.

     Esarosa scanned her eyes over his face for a second before waving gently at Mandy. The seventeen-year-old smiled warmly at her boss before closing the door behind her. “That’s not what you’ll be thanking me for,” she whispered.


	5. Teammates are teammates

Ch.5: Teammates are teammates 

     The Stars had just finished warming up and were sitting inside of their team’s lecture area listening to Coach Smith rant on and on about it being the first friendly. He said that if they goofed up their very first game, it’d not only be an embarrassment on them, but also to Los Angeles. Mickey would admit that he subtly rolled his eyes at that statement.

     It was their first game, after all. Mickey was chilled out and ready to do what he did best. Ian, on the other hand, sat a few seats away from Mickey and seemed about ready to shit himself. It was a surprise to everyone that Ian still had nails by the way he was chewing on them.

“And don’t forget the line-up,” Coach Smith said, “We’re playing a four-four-two today.”

“Coach, we’ve only had two days to practice that. We should play with our original line-up,” Hector quickly interrupted.

     Ian shot Mickey a hesitant glance, but Mickey averted his gaze. They knew Hector was only opposing the new formation because it meant there was more competition in the mid-field. _It was just something his wuss-ass would have to get over_ , Mickey thought.

“Are you running this team, Vasquez?” Coach Smith asked venomously.

“No, Coach,” Hector replied.

And after what seemed like forever, Coach stopped staring him down and said, “Now let’s get onto the field and kick their asses!”

     The team jumped onto their feet cheering and yelling. Pre-gaming was never Mickey’s forte, so he stood up quietly and headed towards Ian as everyone else ran for the field’s entrance.

“You good, Gallagher?”

Ian gulped. “Yeah, uh, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” Mickey said, “You look a little green. It’s like you’ve never played a game before.”

“Well, there’s a lot of fans here so-“

“Look,” Mickey interrupted quietly and held him back so no one else would hear, “I know you probably don’t wanna be all buddy buddy with me until these bruises heal off our faces…but you can vent to me if you need to.”

     Ian’s face started to soften little by little and an ear-to-ear grin spread from one side to the other. So of course, Mickey cleared his throat and added, “I mean, don’t fucking lie to me, is all. I know what you’re going through.”

     If Ian’s smile wasn’t lighting up the room before, it sure was then. “Yeah, I get it,” Ian said, “I can rely on you ‘cause we’re teammates.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, man. Just don’t make this into some pussy, soap opera, shit, alright.”

     Ian laughed, forgetting for just a few seconds that there weren’t scouts in the suites watching him. The pressure was definitely on for him. If he wanted to be anywhere near Europe next season, he’d play his ass off in front of those scouts. His career depended on pre-season. It depended on the actual season, but mostly it depended on that game. What was the saying? First impressions matter most?

     Since the Stars had three captains (one for each area of the field) and Ian was one of them, he jumped to the front of the line. Mickey stood right behind him as the first non-captain, starting player.

     The opposing team began lining up next to them; their dark green and maroon colored jersey’s made Ian want to puke. Their captain stopped right next to Ian. “Good game, mate,” he told the redhead through a thick Australian accent.

     Ian nodded but didn’t say a word. It was Ian’s game and he didn’t have time to make nice with the competition.

2

     Up in the stadium suites, Esarosa and Kev stood behind the glass doors, staring down at the field as the stands started filling up. Kev was stuffing his face with way too many nachos and Esarosa was trying not to discourage him. Everyone coped with anxiety in there own way, after all.

     The room was beautiful and Esarosa thought that it was much too fancy for just a few hours. The walls were painted dark blue and canary yellow. There was a small kitchen in the corner with stainless steel appliances. Along the walls were plush couches that matched the walls and in the center of the room was a large, rectangular coffee table. The back wall was made of pure glass that included a door that allowed the inhabitants to step out and sit in a section made up of stadium seats.

     Esarosa had never been to a professional game before. She pictured dirty, broken seats and men spitting bear in people’s faces; to her surprise, she basked in germ-free luxury and was provided with a buffet of food and unlimited beverages.

     From the room, she had a perfect view of all the other suites; including the presidential suite, where the owner of the team and his kids hung out. Earlier, Kev had pointed out a few scouts that were there to check out the players. He told her that they were scoping out fresh meat…and Mickey, of course.

     But that was then. There were only a few minutes before the game started and Esarosa could feel her stomach in knots. She was nervous. Granted, she had no reason to be nervous, but she couldn’t help it.

“They’re all lined up and ready to go,” Kev said through a mouth full of food.

“You shouldn’t speak with your mouth full, Kevin,” Esarosa scolded.

“Silence, padawan!” he groaned, “Since this is your first game ever, I’d be paying more attention.”

“If you say so,” Esarosa sighed and turned on the giant flat-screen t.v.

     Three grown men sitting behind a news-anchor desk popped up on the channel and Esarosa raised-up the volume.

“Today is definitely going to be a close game,” one of the anchormen said.

“You think so?” a balding anchor replied, “I think we all know which team has it in the bag today.”

The third anchor laughed and added, “Don’t be so sure; a new team, a new environment…who knows how Mickey Milkovich will play today. If he messes up, that could just as well cost the LA Stars the game.”

Kev groaned loudly and dropped the nachos onto the dark blue coffee table. “Mickey Milkovich will kick ass just as he always does!” he shouted at the t.v.

     Esarosa covered her mouth with her hand so he couldn’t see the laughter threating to escape her lips.

     The first sports-anchor suddenly stopped talking before saying, “Hold up…it seems as though Bryan has taken the field. Let’s see what he has to say.”

3

“Thanks, Jim,” Bryan said, “I’m reporting live from the stadium’s turf. The tension is thick down here, the crowd is echoing against these walls…today is going to be a very thrilling game.”

     Bryan Robinson was twenty-one years old and fresh out of college. They say he landed the job through a friend of a friend, but no one could ever prove that to be true. Bryan had a full head of luscious dark hair, a baby-smooth face, and a smile that could melt people’s hearts. By some act of sheer luck, genetics and the universe came together to make Bryan Robinson.

     As he stood in front of the camera, with the stadium’s greener than green, synthetic grass behind him, viewers around the world noted how much the camera loved him. He could have probably spoken in gibberish for those five minutes and still had the entire audience drooling in front of their television screens.

“Oh,” he smiled charmingly, “They’re beginning to announce the players. From the grass to you, I’m Bryan Robinson from channel 6 sports. Back to you, Jim.”

     Bryan waited with a gorgeous smile on his face until his cameraman held a thumbs-up (their signal that they weren’t rolling anymore). As soon as the camera was pointed at the ground, Bryan huffed heavily and slumped his posture. “I’m so sick of this shit,” he complained.

“Why’s that?” the cameraman asked.

“Four years as a journalist student and I’m stuck reporting from the fucking-“

“Bryan!” a cute blonde lady with thick-framed glasses chirped, stopping him mid-sentence, “How are you, darling?”

 _Was better before you showed up_ , he thought. “Kelly Grace! I’m fantastic! How are you, beautiful?” he asked and a blush rose to her cheeks.

“Better now that I ran into you,” she said and he practically laughed in her face, “So, I never heard from you after-“

“The night of Mickey’s press signing, yeah, I know. So sorry about that, but you know how things are,” he smiled, “Running back and forth; this way and that.”

     She smiled and nodded as if she could possibly relate to what he was saying. She was a joke in the sports world. Bryan knew it, everyone else knew it; she was only there because she was hot. Women didn’t know jack shit about the sport and if it weren’t for the tiny earpiece she wore with the men behind it, telling her what to say, she would sound like the moron she was.

     Her presence was just another reason that Bryan was so frustrated with his job. He busted his ass through school, practically eating up his competition, but Miss-Sally-Big-Tits saunters in with fifty-dollars worth of bleached highlights and steals the job right from under other more-deserving sports-reporters. It was ridiculous. Women had it so easy.

“Well, we have to go,” Kelly pointed between her and her cameraman, “Catch ya later!”

“Bye, doll!” he smiled.

     As she skipped away, Bryan tried his hardest not to vomit all over the synthetic grass. His cameraman shot him an amused expression. “Fun night?” he asked.

Bryan rolled his eyes. “Yeah right. She couldn’t even get _that_ right.”

4

     Esarosa was scratching her head trying to get her facts straight. “So, the captains come out last?” she asked.

“No, no,” Kev replied, “The captains come out first.”

“So, Ian will be out shortly?”

“Precisely, my dear,” he said whilst creepily wiggling his fingers together.

“Please don’t do that,” she scrunched her nose and he immediately put his hands down.

“Look here they come,” Kev said quickly and picked up the plate of nachos again as he made his way to the glass wall.

     The stadium announcers called out the other team’s players first. Esarosa guessed it was proper game etiquette; the whole, politely respecting the other team and all. It was dumb, but well worth the wait, because when the Stars started making their way onto the field, the crowd went absolutely bananas.

     The first Star was a player Esarosa wasn’t familiar with, so she paid no attention to him even though Kev had other plans in mind as he began informing her of minor facts about each starter being called.

Ian was the last of the captains to be introduced. “Ian fucking Gallagher,” Kev said, “Been playing pro for three years and came out of the closet during his second season. If you ask me, his career would have sky-rocketed whether or not he liked dick.”

“Fascinating,” Esarosa mumbled and noticed that even through the thick walls, she could hear the crowd as they cheered their asses off for Ian.

     He was definitely a favored player. Right after the redhead emerged from the underground area, Mickey popped out and Esarosa wouldn’t have believed the love he got had she not been there to witness it herself.

     Mickey Milkovich: grumpy to the bone, FUCK U-UP, ex-thug Mickey Milkovich had every single person in the stands on their feet. Children were on their parents’ shoulders just to get a clear view of the legend-in-the-making. Women were red in the face from screaming so hard. Men with painted faces and exposed beer-bellies were chest bumping. Not one person was silent; even the people wearing jerseys for the other team were clapping for Mickey. Esarosa was stunned.

“Wow…” she whispered.

“I know right,” Kev said with his feathers ruffled up.

     A few other players passed by before the announcers called out Hector’s name. Esarosa immediately rolled her eyes. “Hector Vasquez…recruited at the age of seventeen, spent the next three years with the Colorado Vipers before transferring to the Stars, and is currently in a romantic relationship with the owner’s daughter,” Kev stated.

“Well, check him out,” Esarosa said in monotone.

Kev laughed.

Through the speakers, the announcers shouted, “Jake Ward!” And that was all it took to get the crowd riled up again.

“Jakey-Jake Ward,” Kev chuckled to himself, “His dad played with the Los Angeles Stars a few decades ago, he is the second fastest runner on the team, and his dreadlocks have been his signature look since he began playing professional ball. Oh…and did I mention he’s nineteen.”

“He’s only nineteen years old?” she asked in shock.

Kev chuckled and nodded his head, “He sure is.”

     Esarosa stepped closer to the glass wall so she could get a closer look. She had to admit that Jake was pretty handsome in that rugged, hippy-chic, type way. “Jake Ward, huh?” she repeated under her breath.

“Yeah, he’s the team’s sweetheart.”

“He wasn’t such a sweetheart when he was treating Mickey poorly on his first few days.”

Kev laughed. “They’re all different through the lens of a camera. Jake’s just well adapted ‘cause he grew up with the cameras in his face.”

“I never would have pegged him as a Jake,” she said.

“Why’s that?”

“I’m not sure. I guess I figured his name would be something hippyish; like, starshine or rainbow dust.”

“What?” Kev cried and set the nachos down so he wouldn’t accidentally drop them from laughing so hard.

“Tell me he doesn’t seem like that type of person to come from a family of tree-hugging baby-boomers!”

     Kev was laughing so hard that tears were falling from his eyes. He was doubled over, trying not to puke up every appetizer he ate. “You need to stop spending so much time with Mickey, Esarosa. You’re starting to sound just like him!”

“Oh, stop it,” she replied, once more covering her mouth with her hand so her smile didn’t grow evident, “Oh, come on! What are they doing now?”

Kev wiped at the corners of his eyes before turning back towards the field. “They’re lining up for the National Anthem. Afterwards, the starting eleven will line up for a game picture-“

“And then the game will commence?”

“And then the game will commence,” Kev assured her.

     She exhaled slowly and nodded her head. She wished it would start already. The anticipation was killing her.

5

     Down on the field, it was beginning to drop in temperature. The sun was slowly setting in the horizon, making the sky a jaw-dropping assortment of oranges and pinks. Mickey glanced at Ian, who was jumping up and down right next to him. The redhead looked amazing under pressure. Mickey loved how Gallagher’s jersey clung to his broad shoulders for dear mercy but loosened around his waist; his thighs flexed and un-flexed with every bounce.

“Don’t stand still, Mick,” Ian said, “Your muscles will get cold.”

     Mickey snapped out of his daze and took a quick look around him. The fans were flooding the stands and their shouts of glee could be heard from miles away. The referees were all syncing their watches with one another as the players from both teams stood ready in their positions.

     Hector stood next to Ian on the left side. Ian and Mickey stood in the middle, and Jake stood on the right side. Two forwards stood at the top of the fifty yards circle, while four defenders stood behind the mid-field. The keeper sidestepped from one goal post to the other.

“He swears we’ll lose the game if he doesn’t do that,” Ian sighed when he caught Mickey staring at the keeper.

“What? Look like a dumbass running back and forth?” the brunette asked.

Ian laughed. “Yes.”

“So does that mean we’ll win the game?”

     For a second Ian didn’t say anything but turn back around. There was an intense look of focus playing on his face and Mickey thought back to his first years as a professional, back when he would have sold Mandy into the black market if that meant transferring to Europe. Mickey empathized with Gallagher’s drive, he found it pretty sexy, to be honest.

“I hope so,” Ian whispered.

Suddenly, without warning, Jake ran to Mickey’s side and said, “Try not to fuck this up, yeah?”

“Excuse me?” Mickey grunted, taken aback.

“You heard me, Milkovich, and stow away that childish anger of yours. We need to win this game, okay. Some of us have careers to fight for unlike-“

“Seriously, this isn’t the time to talk about this,” Mickey interrupted.

“I’m just saying, think about others besides yourself for a change.”

     And with that, Jake ran back to his spot without another word. Mickey glanced at Ian with his jaw nearly touching the ground but the redhead didn’t look back. He couldn’t believe that that was the way his teammates viewed him. Well, no, he could _believe_ it, but that’s not what he wanted them to think.

     Mickey would never admit to worrying about the way others perceived him, but the reality of the matter was that he truly did. So if Ian and Jake wanted to better their careers, then fine. Mickey had finally put his fucking foot down. He was finally fucking over it. If his own goddamn teammates were expecting a ball-hogging, selfish, narcissistic hothead, Mickey fucking Milkovich would show them how wrong they were.

6

“Whoa,” Esarosa was stunned, “What was that? What did he just tell him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Kevin,” she asked, “Did he just threaten Mickey five seconds before the whistle?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, okay!”

7

“Hello, drama!” one of the news-anchors shouted on air.

“Wowza! Was that venom or thrilling words of excitement?” another anchor asked, “We’re gonna let the viewers at home decide for themselves.”

     The camera zoomed in on Mickey’s face. His eyebrows were wrinkled-up as he jumped in place, awaiting the start of the game. Something appeared to cross his mind as he fell into what athletes called “getting in the zone.”

“Bryan, what do you see?”

8

“I don’t know what to tell you, Jim,” Bryan Robinson shouted over the cheers of the crowd, “But Sweetheart Jakey-Jake has definitely struck a nerve in Mickey Milkovich. Let’s just hope it’s for the better.”

9

     The ref’s whistle rang through the stadium in a shriek of panic for every player on the field except Ian Gallagher. For the first time since he stepped onto the field, he felt a sense of power.

His teammates rushed forward as one of their strikers gained possession of the ball. “Move up!” their center defender shouted at the top of his lungs and everyone did as they were told.

     Hector sprinted up the sideline and the forward crossed the ball over to him. “Ball! Ball!” Ian called out.

     He ran past two defenders with ease and Hector kicked it over to him. As Ian made a run for the goal, the crowd cheered on with the intensity of three stadiums combined. But before anything could happen, the referee blew his whistle and signaled it to be off sides.

“Bullshit that was off sides!” Mickey shouted at the ref.

     The referee wagged his finger at Mickey, which only served to rile him up further. The ex-thug was about to get in the ref’s face when he caught a glimpse of dreads from the corner of his eye.

     Mickey sighed. He knew it wasn’t worth it, so he let it go. _For the greater good_ , he thought. Ian ran by him and patted him on the shoulder, “Block your man, Mick.”

     Mickey sprinted to cover and open player and was lucky enough to trap the ball before the other team did. He swiveled around a stocky guy with weird patterns shaved in his head. But wherever Mickey tried to go, there were three more guys waiting for him. Instead of trying to be a hero, he passed the ball down to one of the defenders and ran up the field for a pass.

     The keeper kicked the ball as hard as he could and Jakey-Jake Ward was there to get it.

“Got your back!” Mickey shouted, opening himself up behind him.

     As dreads dribbled to the right, the other team’s player stuck his foot out and tripped him. Dreads cried out in pain and rolled on the ground a few times. Mickey charged at the other player and shoved him.

“Oh, little bitch Milkovich coming to the rescue!” the player shouted.

     The ref blew his whistle a thousand times and chaos exploded on the field. The other team rushed to their player’s side, just as the Stars rushed to Mickey’s side. Ian quickly ran in between Mickey and the other player. He placed his hands on the ex-thug’s shoulders. “Mickey, no,” Gallagher said, “Not him.”

     Mickey wasn’t sure what Ian meant by "not him." If not him, then who? Mickey knitted his eyebrows and ripped himself out of Gallagher’s grasp. He leant down and extended his hand towards Jake.

     For what seemed like forever, dreads stared at Mickey. The crowd was quieting down, Ian was anxiously staring at them, but Mickey didn’t move an inch. Jake sighed and took his hand.

“Thanks,” dreads muttered once he stood up.

     Mickey nodded his head, but didn’t say anything. The crowd erupted in loud cheers once more, the ref called the fowl on the other team, and he flashed a bright yellow card in the asshole player’s face.

     The Stars were standing still with shock playing on their faces. Mickey felt uncomfortable so he snapped, “What? Let’s fucking go, don’t act like you’ve never seen me before.”

Ian’s face slowly molded into a grin of admiration. “Yeah, let’s go guys!” he shouted, and as he ran by Mickey, Gallagher shot him a subtle wink.

     Mickey forced himself not to smile. The game was just beginning, but it was already turning out to be a win.

10

     Two penalty kicks and a halftime later, Esarosa and Kev were shitting themselves. Of course Esarosa was doing everything she could to keep her cool, but Kev didn’t care. After the almost-fist fight that occurred earlier, he had been ripping his hair out.

“He’s playing great, Kevin,” Esarosa reassured him.

“Obviously,” he replied, “Look don’t worry about me. I get like this during every game.”

“Oh, fantastic. The rest of the season should be fun, then,” she said sarcastically and he laughed.

“There’s only fifteen minutes left. You can handle it, Ms. Wolfe.”

     At two goals to one, the score was in the Stars’ favor, but Coach Smith was pissed beyond belief. The goals had only been scored through penalty kicks and that was never very satisfying. Needless to say, the game was exhilarating, because it was very intense and unpredictable. Sometimes the Stars were dominating and other times it was switched, but the moments never went dull.

“I don’t understand why they’re having such a tough time with this fucking team,” Kev huffed, “And I don’t get why Mickey is playing like such a pussy.”

“No, he’s playing-“

“Great, yes, I know. His footwork is great, his shots are even, and his passes are accurate, but Jesus fucking Christ, I haven’t seen him hit anyone.”

“Which should be a good thing, Kevin,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, but…” he turned to face her, “It’s just not who he is.”

11

     Ten minutes later, one of the Stars was injured pretty badly and the game was halted while the team’s medical staff checked him out. Jake took the opportunity to walk over to Mickey.

“Hey,” he whispered out of breath, “I appreciate what you’ve been doing tonight.”

     Mickey shook his head, also out of breath, and placed his hands over his hips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied, spitting a wad of saliva onto the turf.

“Come on, man, yes you do,” dreads replied, “I get it, alright. You wanna help me out so you keep passing the ball to me.”

“Look,” Mickey snapped, holding out his tattooed hand, “You happen to be on the same side of the field as me, okay. That’s it. I get the ball, and shit happens.”

Jake nodded, “Yeah, okay…but the next time _shit happens_ , you should hand it off to Gallagher instead. He’d make better use of it.”

     Mickey waited until Jake ran away to look over at Ian, who was on the other side of the field speaking to Coach Smith. Then the staff carried the injured player off the field and the ref blew the whistle for the game to commence, so Mickey turned back around and hoped Jake was right.

     Within thirty seconds, Mickey gained possession of the ball again and he took no time to hesitate as he sprinted in the direction of the right corner. Jake crossed over the ex-thug and took a place in the center of the field. It was obvious Mickey was going to make the cross and the crowd lost their shit.

12

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Esarosa kept repeating as she slowly got out of her seat.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck,” Kev shouted.

13

“He’s going for it, folks,” one of the news anchors reported, “Mickey Milkovich is prepping his team for the third cross of the second half.”

14

     Then, with every ounce of faith in his body, Mickey leaned his body back, got his foot underneath the ball, and sent the best cross he’d ever sent flying through the air.

     Gallagher rushed towards the ball but was blocked by one of the other team’s defenders. Instead, it was Jake that stepped forward and headed the ball towards the net. It was so fast, that the team almost missed what happened, but instead of going inside of the net, the ball bounced off the goal post and bulleted back onto the field.

     Ian quickly fought for the ball and dribbled it to the edge of the fifteen-yard box.

“Shoot, Gallagher!” Mickey yelled over everyone else, “It’s open, take your fucking shot!”

     So, he did. And to everyone but Mickey’s surprise, it glided into the net with ease. Ian shouted with excitement and sprinted to the right corner where Mickey was standing. He jumped onto the ex-thug, wrapping his long legs around Mickey’s waist and curling an arm around his neck whilst throwing the other one into the air.

     The Stars’ fans were cheering louder than they had up to that point. Coach Smith threw his clipboard in the air and hugged the assistant coach.

     Mickey wrapped an arm tightly around Gallagher’s waist to hold him in place just as the rest of the team joined them in celebration. Mickey also made sure to enjoy the moment while he could, because he could never hold another man like that outside of the sport. In any other situation, people might get the wrong idea. “Yes!” Ian shouted in Mickey’s face, “That was fucking amazing!”

     Mickey’s smile was so heart-melting that it almost made the redhead forget about the goal. He felt comfortable in Mickey’s arms and maybe even a little more ecstatic than the feeling of the scored goal.

15

     Up in the stadium suites, Esarosa’s eyes were glittering at the sight of Ian and Mickey celebrating so affectionately. She caught Kev staring at her so she quickly turned defensive. “What?” she asked.

“Do you know?” he asked her.

“Are you confirming it?” she challenged.

“Can you keep it to yourself?”

“Can a Wolfe keep a secret?” she laughed, “Better than anyone I know.”

     He chuckled and returned his attention back to the field. It was as if everyone forgot there was still a few seconds left on the clock. The center referee didn’t bother to hurry them up. Instead, the fans rejoiced with one another and the Stars beamed so much that one would have thought they won the World Cup.

16

     A few hours after the game ended, Ian, Mickey, and Jake were the last players left in the changing room. The staff had all left and so had the players, but Ian was moving slower than usual and Mickey was waiting until Jake left because he wanted to have a word with the redhead.

     Finally, Jake packed up the last of his things and started to walk out, but before he could leave the room he turned to Mickey and said, “Thanks again, man.”

Mickey didn’t bother to look up at him, “No one knows what the fuck you’re talking about, kid.”

“Whatever you say,” dreads chuckled and left.

     There was an uncomfortable silence in the room, almost as if the two guys were searching desperately for something to say. Once Mickey heard the doors to the outside area slam shut, he flopped himself onto the wooden bench and looked at Ian. “Good game,” he said.

Ian glanced up at him with a goofy smile on his lips, “You too, Mick.”

“That was a nice goal,” the ex-thug admitted.

“I’m a good shot,” Ian replied without skipping a beat.

     Mickey threw his head back from laughing so hard. It was a genuine laugh and sweet to Gallagher’s ears. It hung in the air long after it was gone and Ian thought it was a shame Mickey didn’t laugh more often.

     Then, Ian tried to stand up but couldn’t and inevitably fell back onto the bench. “Whoa,” Mickey said, standing to stabilize him so he wouldn’t fall backwards, “What’s wrong, Gallagher?”

Ian groaned, “Its my fucking thigh…I think I pulled a muscle.”

“Are you serious? You need to go see the med-staff,” Mickey said, but before he could finish his sentence, Ian was already shaking his head.

“No, you know how they are. They’ll report everything back to coach and then he’ll order me to take it easy.”

“Well if it gets worse, then you’re fucked for next week’s game, Ian,” Mickey scolded.

     Ian smiled, but didn’t say anything. Mickey sighed, “I have something.”

     So he dug through his bag and came out with a tiny, clear bottle filled with dark yellow cream. Mickey got on his knees in front of Ian and rolled the redhead’s shorts up a little. Ian hesitated for a moment. “What are you doing?”

“The fuck does it look like I’m doing? I’m gonna rub down your thigh with this cream,” Mickey spat, before rubbing his forehead with his hand, “That sounded so much gayer than I wanted it to. I mean-“

“It’s okay,” Ian chuckled, “But it looks like you’re about to put solidified cat piss on my leg.”

Mickey laughed loudly again, “No, man. Its good shit. My manager brought it back from Mexico and it works like fucking magic.”

     So Ian agreed to let him use it, and to be honest, he wasn’t fully against the idea of Mickey Milkovich rubbing him down. The ex-thug was pretty hot in that tough, tattooed kind of way. The type of hot that people wanna ride off with on a Harley only to ignore their responsibilities and get back at their parents. “Hey, do you have a motorcycle?” Ian asked him as the brunette started to rub the cream into his skin.

Mickey knitted his eyebrows, “No? I drive a classic.”

“Red Mustang?” Ian asked quickly.

Again, Mickey wrinkled his brows in confusion, “Yeah, why?”

“’Cause I’m pretty sure you almost hit my car the other day in the parking lot of the Kash ‘n Grab.”

“Probably,” Mickey said amusingly, “I’m gonna go harder now, Gallagher.”

     Ian cleared his throat uncomfortably at his words. He sat up a little straighter on the wooden bench and tried not to look as dumb as he felt. “Yeah, yeah, go for it,” he managed to say.

     When Mickey dug his thumbs into Ian’s muscle, the redhead let out an involuntary moan and immediately turned bright red. Mickey’s breathing hitched as he struggled to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

     But something flipped inside of Mickey and the energy in the changing room went from zero to sixty in a manner of milliseconds. What started off as a simple application of muscle cream, quickly turned into a thigh massage that Mickey was not shying away from.

“Fuck,” Ian breathed, closing his eyes, “That feels really good, Mick.”

     Mickey slowly, more sensually, worked his way up Ian’s thigh. The redhead was visibly hardening in his shorts and Mickey was not letting up. “Fuck, Gallagher,” Mickey whispered.

     Just as he was about to reach out and grab a hold of Ian, the outside door burst open and Mickey sprang onto his feet, practically sprinting over to where his bag was. Hector barged into the changing room with his gym bag slung over his body and Ian crossed one leg over the other.

“The bus is waiting for you, _pendejos_!” Hector said but sensed a different vibe in the room and asked, “Are you two _amigos_  now? Because not to bring up the past or nothing, but you guys threw some of the gnarliest _chingadasos_  I’ve ever seen.”

     Mickey rolled his eyes. That idiot almost caught Mickey in a pretty obvious position and that wouldn’t have gone over well. He had to forcefully remind himself that he was very gay and very in love with his job and if he wanted to remain in one piece (physically and financially), he’d be very in the closet for a very long time. After shoving the rest of his things into his bag, he threw it over one shoulder and walked towards the exit. “I have to go,” he stated, “Esarosa is waiting for me.”

“Yeah, you tell glitter-eyes I said what’s up,” Hector called after him.

     Ian sat there, staring after the ex-thug. He wondered if he’d imagined what just happened or if it was true. But he didn’t have much time to dissect the situation, because Hector interrupted with, “What’s got him so riled up? We won, _hermano_! Let’s go get fucked up!”

     Ian shook his head and slowly stood up. Whatever that piss cream had inside of it, truly was magic. The redhead grabbed the handles of his gym bag and followed Hector out of the room. He was feeling confused and slightly panicked; there was only one person Ian wanted to see right then and there.

17

     Esarosa was standing near the stadium’s back entrance, typing out some emails, when Mickey stormed out of the players’ area in a hurry. “Esarosa!” he half shouted, half whispered to get her attention, “We have to go.”

     The blonde reporter, Kelly, came charging at him from the shadows, catching him off guard. “Mr. Milkovich!” she cried and picked up her pace so she could catch up with him and Esarosa, “Mr. Milkovich! How do you feel about today’s game?”

     Mickey turned to face her but was met with a tiny voice recorder shoved in his face. He held up his hand so she would back off a bit. She didn’t.

     They were a few feet away from the private parking lot; Mickey could taste the freedom. However, just as he was about to follow Esarosa through the doors, Kelly asked if the bruises he was sporting on his face were compliments of Ian Gallagher. Naturally, he stopped in his tracks, assuring her that the bruises were none of her or anyone else’s fucking business.

“Surely, it can’t be a coincidence that the team’s best player and the world’s most beloved hothead showed up to today’s game with matching shiners and cut-up lips?” she pressed on.

     He stared into her hopeful eyes for a while longer, trying not to reveal just how bad he felt for her. “Look,” he sighed, “Transitioning onto a new team is a fucking pain in the ass no matter who you are; it doesn’t matter if you’re fresh meat or old news. People say things they don’t mean, fists fly, but at the end of the day, teammates are teammates.”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked.

“Whatever it has to mean to get you to sleep at night,” he said before exiting without another word.

18

     Later, at the Kash ‘n Grab, Ian basically broke through the front door so he could talk to Linda. He wanted to tell her what happened at the game and what happened in the changing room. He wanted to tell her that he might, sort of, have a thing for “FUCK U-UP” Milkovich. He wanted her to scold him and tell him that he was asking for trouble. He wanted her advice.

“Linda!” he called out, “It’s Ian!”

“Back here!” she shouted from the storage closet.

     He sprinted to the back room so quickly that he had to hold onto the doorframe so he wouldn’t slam into the wall. It was like the longer he went without venting, the faster his heartbeat got. Linda set down a box full of candy and said, “Whoa, slow down, Ian. You’re gonna hurt your-“

“I think Mickey Milkovich is gay,” he blurted out, struggling to breath evenly.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't stand this hiatus anymore. Hope you enjoy this gallavich multi-chap(: Feedback is so greatly encouraged, guys. Tell me what I should or shouldn't fix. I actually played competitive soccer for 13 years and this idea came to me during the World Cup. Took me long enough to finally sit my ass down and write it. -mumbles_monaghan<3


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